chapter 5
Layla
On Saturday, Layla slept in and then changed into an old pair of jeans and the torn and faded Rolling Stones concert T-shirt she’d been wearing since she’d bought it after their show in 2002 and refused to ever part with. Hers was authentic, unlike the current iteration she’d seen on the rack at Target.
She made several trips down to the basement carrying armfuls of supplies: carpet knife, work gloves, bucket of soapy water, paint can, rollers. Her house had been built sometime in the early nineties, and there was an additional living space down there, not that she had much need for it. But what did interest her was the twelve-by-fourteen half-finished room meant for storage. Its poured-concrete walls would provide adequate soundproofing. One egress window at ground level let in a bit of natural light, but it was only a single pane and might allow too much noise to escape. She wouldn’t know until she tested its limits. The ceiling wasn’t as high as she’d like, but it would do.
Layla took the ponytail holder from her wrist, pulled her hair into a knot on top of her head, and got to work.
* * *
By evening, the basement space looked a lot different than it did when she started the project. The old, stained carpet had been cut into strips, ripped up, and put in the garage for the time being. She’d cleared the cobwebs from the corners of the walls and washed the window and window well. The glass sparkled. She’d swept the concrete floor after pulling up the old carpet tack strips, and she daydreamed about what kind of flooring she’d choose. She preferred wood, but low-pile carpeting would make things more comfortable. Now, with the area cleaned and prepped, Layla could truly begin the transformation. Whether that meant the room or herself was anyone’s guess.
* * *
It turned out that Liam Cook hadn’t been interested in a relationship either, but that was mostly because he was already in one. The second time Layla ran into him, a girl named Suzanne, whom she’d known since they were seven, was sitting on his lap.
The ugly lights had come on and the bouncers had begun the thankless task of herding a large number of intoxicated customers toward the door. Layla had finished chatting and posing for pictures and was on her way to the bar for a cold beer when Suzanne yelled her name. Layla looked at Suzanne and thought the guy whose lap she was sitting on looked vaguely familiar, although it took her a few seconds to place him. When Liam put two and two together and realized that Suzanne knew Layla, he’d stood up so fast that Suzanne tumbled from his lap and barely avoided falling on her ass. Once Suzanne righted herself, she enveloped Layla in a hug. “Oh, wow. You’re kind of sweaty.”
“Yeah, that happens when I play for forty minutes straight.”
“Layla and I go way back,” Suzanne said. She slung her arm around Liam’s neck. “This is Liam. We’re dating.”
“Yep,” Layla said. “We’ve met.”
“Hey,” Liam said.
Suzanne was the prettiest girl Layla had ever known. They’d become friends in elementary school and had once been quite close, although they’d drifted apart as they’d gotten older. Suzanne had gone the cheerleader, homecoming-queen route and Layla had immersed herself in music and band. They had gone to different colleges but had run into each other occasionally when they were home on break. Somehow, neither of them had managed to move on to greener pastures yet.
Suzanne was tall and willowy, with a tight, toned body, the result of hours spent at the gym. That night, she was wearing a low-cut blouse with a plunging neckline, and a tight short skirt worn with the highest of heels. Her blond hair still held its artfully tousled curls, and her perfectly applied red lipstick hadn’t budged. It was an eye-catching look and, reflecting back on it, Layla sometimes wondered if Liam had been drawn to Suzanne the way birds are drawn to scraps of foil and other shiny objects to take home to line their nests.
Layla didn’t remember where she’d picked up the advice, probably a magazine or one of her friends, but before leaving your house you were supposed to look in the mirror, turn around, and then look back into the mirror. Whatever caught your eye, whether it was an accessory or an article of clothing or something weird going on with your hair, needed to be removed, fixed, or adjusted, because that meant it was too much. Suzanne seemed like someone who took that same look in the mirror and then fluffed her hair and put on another necklace and more eyeshadow.
They could not have been more different in terms of style. Layla was wearing snug, faded jeans and a pale yellow T-shirt. And not one of those pastel, girly fitted ones, either. Hers was cut like a man’s, although in a much smaller size. It bore the logo of a Key West bar, and it worked on her, giving her an effortless, sexy, rocker-chick kind of look with her long messy hair—which was now blue after she’d grown tired of the pink—and her delicate features. Layla was made of angles, and her slim-hipped, straight-up-and-down figure with its B cups would never fill out an outfit like the one Suzanne was wearing.
“We’re going to get something to eat. Wanna join us?” Suzanne motioned toward the guy sitting on the other side of Liam. “This is Phillip. We could make it a foursome.” She giggled when she said “foursome.”
“Thanks, but I’m starving and can’t wait that long. I’m going to see if the kitchen has anything left and then I’m going home to crash. It was nice to see you,” Layla said, and then she walked off before they could say anything else.
* * *
Now, as she stood in the basement, she wished she had a time machine. If she did, she’d have gone back and cut out all those years that came after that night in the bar, saving herself a load of heartache in the process. Layla had spent way too much time ruminating on the time-machine thing, which was stupid, because time machines didn’t exist and the past was in the past.
She reminded herself to focus on the present. There was certainly something to be said for being one hundred percent in charge of your time and your resources, and this freedom felt like drawing a fresh breath of air into her lungs. This time, nobody would derail her from having the life she wanted.
She felt buoyant.
Unencumbered.
Alive.
By Sunday night, the walls gleamed with two fresh coats of snowy white and Layla tumbled into bed, tired, aching, and as close to happy as she’d felt in a while.
chapter 6
Josh
Josh picked Sasha up from school on Monday afternoon. On the way home he said, “I have a surprise for you and I’m pretty sure you’re gonna love it.”
He’d stashed the dog in the spare bedroom, and as soon as they were inside, he took Sasha by the hand and led her toward it. She’d been begging for a dog since the age of three, but Kimmy had been lukewarm on the idea and would have preferred a cat. Josh was allergic to cats, so they’d compromised with a hamster that neither of them had been all that thrilled about. It had died a few months ago, and Josh and Kimmy had no desire to replace it due to Sasha’s insistence that it come with her every time she changed houses. Plus, the cage smelled awful and required parental help to clean.