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In her motel room after the concert, Mae cuddled with Jamie, lying side by side on top of the bedspread. Their last chance for intimacy for a long time. In the other bed, Brook and Stream had ceased squirming and giggling and had fallen asleep. Having danced and played themselves into exhaustion, they’d struggled to stay awake long enough to talk with Jamie and tell him that Sekani was now their boyfriend.
Faint illumination from the streetlights and the crack under the door kept the room from being fully dark, and pinpoints of red, blue, and green glowed on the microwave, the TV, and the smoke detectors. Mae imagined Jamie in room after room like this on the road. “So this is your life for the next two months,” she whispered.
He crossed his leg over hers and toyed with her fingers. “Don’t remind me. At least I’ll get some couch-surfing breaks.”
They turned and faced each other to explore a slow, deep, sensual kiss. Mae knew this was going to drive her crazy, making out like teenagers, fully clothed and trying to be quiet. Their hands slid under each other’s shirts, stroking and caressing, and then they stopped, signaled by a mutual realization that they had to. Any more and they would be making noises the children shouldn’t hear.
Jamie murmured under his breath, “Guess I’d better go.”
Mae walked with him to the door. “We’ll see you in the morning. Help you load the van.”
“Yeah.” He took an unsteady breath followed by a loud, wet sniff and hugged her again.
“Sugar—”
“Sh. I’m all right. Just sad, y’know? Normal-sad. No worries. Hooroo, love. Catcha.”
He let himself out and closed the door.
No worries? Mae was already worried. Jamie wouldn’t want to think she was, though.
She showered, got into bed, and lay awake gazing at the girls. They slept undisturbed by things that would wake an adult. The sounds of other people were reassuring when you were a kid. Water running, music, grown-ups’ quiet conversations and footsteps. Maybe Jamie would get that kind of comfort from his couch-surfing breaks. Staying with total strangers would be more stressful than a motel to Mae, but Jamie loved meeting new people, and he needed people as much as she needed peace and privacy.
She shouldn’t worry about him. He had a good stress plan, and though he didn’t like traveling, he would enjoy his performances. During his solo show, the second half of Bandstand, he’d been as happy as Mae had ever seen him, interacting with his audience, getting them to clap and stomp rhythms, to sing melodies while he improvised around them, and to dance patterns that drummed the beat with their feet. His show was an immersion, a relationship. He would be fine every time he got onstage. Crying as he said goodbye was nothing to fret about. Jamie was like that. She’d never known anyone, male or female, who cried so easily. It shouldn’t trouble her, yet it did.
Had Sierra seen something serious? She’d been accurate with his hip problem and his nerve pain. Had she seen depression coming back? Was that why she’d predicted his karma could kill him?
To calm her mind, Mae closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the room. The air conditioner was quieter than the one in her bedroom at home, so quiet she could hear the children breathing. She hadn’t slept in the same room with them since they were little, those rare times when they’d been too scared to comfort each other and had crawled in with her and Hubert. The memory felt as if it came from both a long time ago and just yesterday. The girls seemed to be growing up fast, when she only saw them on vacations. Maybe she should move back East when she graduated, to be closer to them. She got free tuition at the college where Marty coached, so of course she would finish college in Las Cruces, but after that—after that, Jamie wanted her to move to Santa Fe.
Only a month ago, she’d thought she might, though she hadn’t promised anything. In three years, Brook and Stream would be ten years old. Mae didn’t like to picture them heading into preteen and teenage years without her, even if Jen got better in her stepmother role by then. Had Jamie liked Norfolk and Virginia Beach on his last tour? Would he be willing to leave Santa Fe?
The harder question was: would she want him to? She didn’t know if they would still be a couple in three years. They had to take it slowly and see how their relationship grew, see how it worked long-distance while he traveled. See how they handled being apart and then together again. She hoped it all went well, but they couldn’t know until they tried it. Maybe that was why he’d been so emotional. It wasn’t just his stress tolerance that was going to be tested by his tour.
*****
Jamie walked down the hallway still in tears, drowning in a wave of love and longing. This was what he wanted. He’d just left the life he wanted, that moment with Mae and the children, together in the way she didn’t want them to be. Like a family. It had been an illusion and he knew it. Brook and Stream had said goodnight to him without wanting a hug or kiss. They didn’t see him as part of their family yet, just a friend. But some day they would be a family. He would lie with Mae at night in their own house, children sleeping in nearby rooms, her children and, he hoped, children from their marriage. His children and Mae’s. The wholeness, the tenderness, peace, and safety—it was the life he wanted. The love he wanted.
He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath as he went downstairs into the lobby. Now he got it, really got it, why Mwizenge and Dagmawi wouldn’t travel with him, wouldn’t try to make a living from music.
Tourists checking in gave him a wary look, as if perhaps a black man with blond hair and a braided goatee didn’t belong in the Santa Fe they’d come to visit. Or did he look like he’d been crying? Embarrassed, he ducked outside. A light rain had come up, clouds covering the stars. He welcomed the cooling dampness and stood in it for a moment, letting it calm him before walking to his apartment. The parrots would like the rain.
When he got home, he took them out and flew them in circles in the middle of his spiral lavender garden. It made him a little dizzy but it gave them a longer flight path, and they looked beautiful. Placido was starting to get enough lift that the red and blue patches under his wings showed, the way he was meant to be seen. At the end of their rain-bath flight, the birds landed on Jamie’s arms.
“You have fun?” he asked them. “Was that good?”
“Ma-a-a-ate,” said Placido, using the affectionate long form. “Love you.”
“Love ya, too.”
Bouquet climbed to Jamie’s shoulder, and he petted her.
He gazed across the street at the side of the Sage Inn. His heart ached again. How long would it be before he could have the life he craved? Three years? Five? Would it ever really happen? He brought the birds in and let them walk around the living room to dry off, and went to the kitchen.
Since the show had started at six, he’d skipped dinner and now faced the near-empty fridge and cupboards. He had deliberately run out of food before traveling, leaving himself only enough for this night and the morning. One beer. One take-out wrap, curried tofu and veggies. Enough granola for breakfast, one small container of soy yogurt, and one banana. Less food than he craved under stress, but maybe that was for the best.
He opened the beer and stood at the counter eating the wrap and gazing at the children’s art magnetized to the freezer door. It gave him hope, especially the picture of the four of them together. Gasser, who was not in any of the pictures, came in at a gallop and skidded on the linoleum, then stood and meowed.
“Yeah, the birds are on the floor. I know. You hate it.” Placido sometimes attempted to groom Gasser’s tail, which terrified the cat. Just as well he didn’t return the affection—cat spit was toxic to parrots—but Jamie still felt guilty that Gasser was unhappy with his new housemates. “You’re the only one that’s going to love this tour, mate. Just you and me for weeks on end.” Jamie washed down a bite with a slug of beer and contemplated his cat. “No, I take that back. I’m going to make myself like it, too.”
He finished his meal and called his bird-sitter, explaining that it would be easier to bring Placido and Bouquet out tonight, if it wasn’t too late. One less thing to do in the morning. She said she would pick them up, since she and her boyfriend had come downtown for Bandstand and were just finishing dinner.
Jamie gave her directions and then loaded the van. He went back and forth over putting his roo, his childhood stuffed toy, on the center console to ride with him, but the poor old thing was getting too fragile. And Jamie himself—he hoped—was getting less fragile. He could travel without it. By the time he went to bed, he had said goodbye to his parrots and done everything he could to be ready for the tour. Exhausted, he left the hall light on and the bedroom door halfway closed. Inviting sleep, he lay with Gasser spread over his chest and belly, feeling his breath move against the cat’s weight. It wasn’t as soothing as usual, as if his chest was too full. Anxiety, or had Gasser gotten heavier? Jeezus, I’m a failure as a cat owner. “I’ll exercise you every day, mate. Take you out for walks. You’ll see the world.”
The bed felt empty. Mae should have been there. Jamie understood why she wasn’t, but it bothered him nonetheless. What if I die? His heart pounded. With his upcoming thousands of miles of travel, he could be in a car crash. He could die without having the life he wanted with Mae, die without making love to her again.
Gasser passed wind, moving up higher on his owner’s torso, and put one big white clawless paw against his cheek. Jamie stroked the cat’s back. “Thanks, mate.” Ignoring the odor as best he could, he returned to his breath.
As he drifted into sleep, a small furry presence lodged against the side of his neck, purring. Bloody hell. Jamie stared at the ceiling, wide awake again. Maybe the ghost meant to be comforting, but it wasn’t. What did William want?
*****
Mae clasped the children’s hands and looked toward the four-way intersection and then up Don Diego before crossing. It was early yet, and the morning traffic was light. Several blocks away, she spotted Don Gross from the workshop striding down the street with the unmistakable arm-pumping movement of the serious walker, wearing a fitness-tracker gadget on his wrist. She waved, and he waved back.
When she reached the gray stucco duplex, she called Jamie as prearranged in her role as his alarm clock. “Morning, sugar.”
He made one of his not-awake noises.
“Come on down and let us in. We had breakfast at the motel. All we need is some hugs and to help you pack.”
“Mmm. Just hugs. Packed last night. Letitia picked up the birds. All set.”
Don had reached the house. He checked some data in his fitness gadget, pressed a button, and smiled at Mae. “Good morning. Seeing Jamie off?”
“Yeah. This is the day.” She was surprised Don knew this, but then Jamie shared a lot with people he hardly knew. Mae introduced Brook and Stream to Dr. Gross. The girls exchanged glances and emitted little smothered snorts, then told him they were glad to meet him.
“Did you think my name is funny? Kids usually think Dr. Gross is hilarious,” he said, “since medicine is pretty icky sometimes.”
“We like icky stuff,” Brook said. “But we weren’t gonna laugh at your name.”
“Why not? I do.”
Mae explained about the encounter with Sierra at Bandstand.
Don shook his head. “She’s utterly humorless, isn’t she?”
Jamie, his hair wilder than usual and his shirt half-buttoned, opened the front door. The twins ran to him. He hugged them, straightened up, and called out, “G’day, Dr. Don. Come in for coffee?”
Mae asked the doctor, “You mind interrupting your workout?”
“Not at all. I’ve only walked a few blocks. Not even warmed up yet. I can start over.”
After Don and the girls had gone into the kitchen, Jamie held Mae, kissing her and crushing her against him. “Missed you so much last night. Jeezus.”
She drew back and looked into his eyes. There were puffy bags under them. “Did you sleep much?” Foolish question. Jamie normally fell asleep around sunrise.
“Nah. Got a lot done, though. Miss the birds but ...” He shrugged. “Y’know. More time this morning to just be with you. Nice long goodbye.”
They went into the kitchen. He made coffee and apologized for having no food to offer his guests, then fixed his breakfast and ate standing at the counter, telling everyone else to take the chairs. “I’ll be sitting for the next ten hours.”
“We should do yoga,” Stream said. “So you can stretch before you sit.”
“Taking after your mum, aren’t you?”
“Mama doesn’t do yoga. Granma Sallie does.”
“Yeah, but your mum tells me what to do, tells me what’s good for me.” He finished the bite he was chewing. “’Course, you’re right. Should’ve thought of it before I ate. Can’t do downward dog right after breakfast. We’ll have to do poses that stay right-side up.”
The coffee maker announced the completion of its brewing cycle with a hissing sigh, and Jamie filled three mugs. He served Mae and Don. “Hope you like it black, Doc. And no sugar.”
“That’s fine.” Don took a sip. “I used to turn mine into candy, but I’ve trained myself. The older I get, the health-nuttier I get. Did you see your doctor? Get things checked out?”
“Are you sick?” Stream squeaked with concern.
“Nah. No worries, darl.” Jamie gave her a wink, then said to Don, “Figured I was fine, just sparkly, y’know? Except ...” He shoveled a gob of banana and granola into his mouth, too much even for him to talk through, and continued after he’d chewed and swallowed. “I’ve got a ghost.”
“What?” Brook sat straighter. “I thought there was no such thing as ghosts. What kind of doctor do you go to for a ghost?”
“Witch doctor. Kidding. It’s a long story. My cat who died is coming around, came back as a kitten ghost. Think he means well, but it makes me feel like he’s got a message.”
Mae asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“Dunno. Hoped he’d go away, I guess. Didn’t want to bother you.” Jamie drank coffee and put his empty bowl in the sink. “He could just want to be with me. Like ... like he forgave me for letting him get sick. Jeezus.” He turned his back to them and began to wash the single dish and spoon. “Don’t want to talk about him. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
Stream walked over to Jamie and reached up to pat his back. “I’m sorry your cat died.”
He looked down at her. “Thanks. I’ll be all right.” He offered her a wet, soapy hand to hold.
She took it and studied his forearm. “Does the ghost kitty scratch you? Or did Gasser?”
“Nah. Kitten at the shelter did that. Gasser would never hurt me. He licks my wounds, in fact.” Jamie rinsed the dish, put it in the drainer and dried his hands. “Probably why it looks bad. Cat spit’s not the cleanest stuff. Or maybe it’s only bad for parrots, not people.”
Mae felt embarrassingly unobservant. She hadn’t noticed the injury. Not that a kitten scratch was a major wound, but still, she’d overlooked it. Don rose and held his hand out to take the arm Stream had been examining.
He studied Jamie’s skin. “That might be getting infected. Your sparkles could be bacteria after all. Or your immune system fighting them off. I haven’t seen a case for a while, so I can’t say for sure, but that looks like the papule that forms when you get infected with cat scratch disease.”
“There really is such a thing?” Mae asked.
She had to get up and look at Jamie’s scratch and so did Brook. He tolerated the inspection for a moment then gestured for space. They stepped back a little, and he asked, “Is it serious?”
The twins echoed the question.
“Not usually.” Don sat back down to drink his coffee. “It’s not pleasant, but your body normally clears it out in about a month. The symptoms would show up in a week or two. You’d get swollen glands, aches and pains and a fever, and lose your appetite.”
“I could stand to do that,” Jamie said. “I mean, the appetite part.”
“What about pus?” Brook asked. “Will his arm have a lot of pus?”
“Bloody hell,” Jamie growled. “I just ate. You can’t talk about pus.”
The children made eye contact with each other, and Stream reminded him quietly, “You said a bad word.”
Mae slipped an arm around Jamie. “I think we have to let him say bad words today. We can work on it when he gets back. Don, you said he can fight it off, but Jamie can’t be on tour with a fever. Or an infected arm.”
Jamie gulped his coffee. “I’ll keep it clean. Jeezus. And I won’t let Gasser lick it. I need to get ready to hit the road.” He left the room.
“Is he mad at us?” Stream asked.
“Not really. Jamie just gets upset a lot. It’s normal. And he had to go brush his teeth.” If he was very upset, he would take longer about it. She asked Don, “Is there any treatment he should get?”
The doctor paused before answering. “If he’s definitively diagnosed, it can be treated with an antibiotic. However, it’s not usually necessary. Complications can be serious, but they’re rare. There’s nothing I’d recommend he do right now. If he gets symptoms, he should find a doc somewhere on his tour and have tests done.”
A hassle Jamie would find stressful, but he could do it if he had to.
When he didn’t come down within a reasonable dental-hygiene interval, reasonable even for someone who obsessed over it, Mae went upstairs, leaving the girls sitting at the table with Don, asking him questions about cat scratch disease, infections, and pus.
Jamie stood facing the bathroom mirror, brushing his hair. Another obsessive self-calming behavior. Mae took the brush, ran it through his hair a few times, and tucked it into his overnight bag, which sat open on the toilet lid. “You’ll be fine, sugar. And if you do get sick, Don said you can take antibiotics.”
“It’s not if. I’m going to get sick. I have a kitten ghost. He’s trying to tell me a kitten made me sick.” Jamie rummaged in the bag, found antibiotic ointment and plastic bandage strips. Mae took them from him and dressed the small but slightly inflamed injury. “Guess it should be funny,” he said. “I mean, Sierra running on about her soul group and serious illnesses and I’ve got cat scratch fever.”
Mae didn’t think she should mention possible complications that could make it serious. “You don’t have it yet. You might never get it, or you could fight it off. Anyway, stress is the worst thing for your immune system, so don’t fret about it. Just see a doctor if you show signs of it.” She hugged him. “I’m glad Stream noticed your scratch. You must have been worried about William showing up like that.”
“Mmm...” Jamie frowned, his shoulders squirming in an evasive right-left shrug, and then he broke into a wide grin. “Serious fucking disease. Jeezus.”
He gave her a long, minty kiss and they went downstairs, Jamie carrying his bag. “All right, Brook, Stream? Three yoga poses and I have to go.”