Beautiful Dead 02 - Arizona (5 page)

Laura had paid for six sessions of therapy up front and no way would she let me wriggle out of Monday. 'I believe it's helping you come through the trauma,' she insisted.

'Real y? How can you tel ?'

Laura gave me coffee. 'You don't lie on your bed al day like you did right after the event.'

As in, right after Phoenix died. Thump went my heart and I almost veered back out of control. I'd just left my Beautiful Dead boyfriend on Foxton Ridge with a distance between us and anxiety gnawing at my

heart.

Maybe Laura caught the look of pain in my eyes and her voice turned

gentle. 'You've started to go out more, Darina. And you give me a hard time, like you always used to like you're doing right now!'

'OK, I'l see Kim,' I agreed, because it mattered to Laura and because it took attention away from what I was real y doing.

On Sunday I got up early and went round to Logan's place.

'You look like you didn't sleep,' Logan told me before I set foot through the kitchen door. His dad was stil in bed. Logan was cooking himself eggs and bacon.

'Thanks,' I told him, taking a glance in the hal way mirror. There were dark circles under my eyes, not helped by the smoky eyeliner and mascara I never left home without.

'Do you want something to eat?'

'No. Thanks.' I sat at the table, accepted a glass of milk, then plunged right in. 'Tel me about your after-school guitar classes with Frank Taylor.'

Blue bacon smoke rose from the pan. Logan liked it crispy. 'You want to improve your guitar?' he asked. 'I can teach you.'

'Sure I want to improve,' I lied. 'But I want to learn from a good teacher, Logan. I hear Mr Taylor is in that category.'

I'd lain awake al night, thinking of ways to get more facts on Arizona so I could move forward. Usual y there would be friends I could go to and they would lead me to a whole network of information about who she hung out with, where she went on a regular basis, any secrets she might have kept. But Arizona had been so not the type to make close friendships, so that avenue was closed. Which left me with getting closer to her parents and the possibility of finding out more through them. So

you see why I was quizzing Logan over his guitar lessons.

I was total y using my old friend, I admit. And no way could I tel him the real reason for my interest.

'Frank Taylor teaches Spanish guitar,' Logan explained. 'You sure

you don't want some bacon?'

'Sure. Classical Spanish guitar is what I'm interested in. I already play electric Jonas taught me, remember?'

'So why don't you let me teach you Spanish?' Logan wouldn't let this drop. 'That way we get to spend time together.'

That's why not, I thought. Logan was like one of those barnacle sea creatures that clamp themselves to the side of a boat. Sailors have to scrape them off. A year ago I wouldn't have said this about him. Twelve months back, Phoenix hadn't come into my life.

'Does Frank Taylor do his private coaching from the music col ege where he teaches?'

'No, I go round to his house.' Logan made short work of his breakfast.

'Every Tuesday at 6.00 p.m. You should see it, Darina. I mean, compared

with this place, even with your place, it's a palace. They took pictures of it for Mountain Living after Mrs Taylor brought in a decorator for a whole year. She had the entire place redesigned.'

'I know it. So you go round to his house,' I repeated. Good. My mind was made up. 'Thanks, Logan,' I said, standing up and sneaking his last piece of bacon off his plate as I left. 'I'l cal there after lunch.'

Frank Taylor definitely didn't need the money, so it must have been pure 35

love of the guitar that made him sel his musical knowledge for a downmarket twenty-five dol ars an hour.

I drove to Westra and pul ed up outside the electronic gates of 2850

North 22 Street. The Taylor house stood in a big expanse of lawn. It was built Dutch style with curved gables and low roofs, and a fancy carved porch on two sides. A gardener tended the flowerbeds, so I cal ed to him.

' Is Frank Taylor in?'

The old, skinny guy came to the gate and shot me a suspicious look.

'Who's asking?'

'I want to take guitar classes,' I said, without answering directly. Who was this guy, anyway?

'That's OK, Peter.' A tal figure walked down the drive towards us. I would put him at sixty years of age at least, and was surprised when he opened the gate and offered to shake my hand. 'I'm Frank Taylor,' he told me.

Wow, so Arizona's father was a senior citizen! His shoulders stooped, his grey eyes were set deep in their sockets and surrounded by wrinkles.

'How did you know I give guitar classes?'

'A friend of mine - Logan Lavel e told me.'

'Yes, Logan's a good kid. He plays with solid technique but without much flair,' Frank let me know. 'So come into the house er ... ?'

'Darina.' I fol owed him up the driveway. 'I knew Arizona. We were classmates.' Better get that out in the open, I thought.

'She never spoke of you,' he informed me stiffly. He held the door open for me. 'Come in.'

I stood in a lobby bigger than my entire house. The style was a mix of traditional and contemporary - polished wood and brushed steel surfaces combined, leather sofas big enough to seat a whole basketbal team set against neutral beige wal s.

Al yson, this is Darina,' Frank told the woman who stepped out of an

inner room. 'She's the same age as Arizona would have been.'

A shiver ran through me - for a second I thought I was looking at Arizona's older sister that I knew nothing about. But then I took in the too-perfect, sleek blonde hair, the careful make-up and the frozen forehead with no frown lines and decided, no - Al yson Taylor must be Arizona's mom. If I had Frank down as sixty, his wife could be no more 36

than thirty-five.

Hel o, Darina.' Al yson couldn't have been less interested. She walked past me and her husband, right out of the front door. 'Frank, I'm at the studio if you need me.'

'Where else?' He gave an exasperated shrug. 'My wife works at a twenty-four-hour news channel,' he explained. 'Come rain or shine, tornado or hurricane, that's where you'l find her.'

I felt this was too much information, so I focused on the designer furniture as he led me into a room that was obviously his music space. Half a dozen guitars stood to attention against one wal , there were keyboards and computers, monitors and sound systems of every description.

Are you a total novice, Darina, or do you have some musical knowledge?' Frank asked, sitting behind a desk like an attorney in a court of law.

'I play a little.'

He handed me the nearest acoustic guitar. 'Show nie.'

I knew a James Taylor song that my dad taught me when I was ten years old, so I made a random choice, told Frank where I learned it, then fumbled through.

'Like you said you play a little. Do you know anything else?'

Some of the tracks from the Johnny Cash album at Fulsom Prison.'

How had I got myself into this? I was so embarrassed.

No Bach or Debussy? Your dad didn't teach you to play like Segovia?'

Was Arizona's father making fun of me? I checked his expression and saw no sign of a sense of humour.

Frank Taylor leaned back in his chair. 'So, Darina, why did you real y come to the house?'

It seemed the Taylors were used to people snooping. After the Mountain Living feature they'd had a crowd of two-bit journalists beating a path to their door to take more pictures for their magazines. Then after the Arizona tragedy, her so-cal ed friends crawled out of the woodwork rubber-neckers wanting to be close to the action. Or so Mr Taylor told me, and he'd straight away put me into this category. 'If you hadn't mentioned Logan, I wouldn't even have let you through the door,' he added.

'It's not what you think.' We were out in the hal way, I was tripping 37

over a designer settee. *I do I did know Arizona. We were friends.'

Frank Taylor was out of patience. 'Like I said she never talked about you. You never came here before today. Arizona's been dead almost a year and there's nothing more for you to find out, so I'm asking you to leave.'

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.'

'You haven't,' he told me calmly as he opened the door and showed me out.

The door clicked and I faced the long walk down the drive.

That went real y wel , I told myself, looking out for Peter the gardener and expecting another dose of humiliation. Peter wasn't around, but there

was someone sitting in a summer house in the middle of the lawn a boy

stooped over a large pad of paper that rested on his knee, so busy with his pencil that he didn't notice me.

I heard a door round the side of the main house open and Peter the gardener's voice. ' Raven, where are you?'

The boy raised his head and, in what looked like an overreaction to the

hired help's question, stepped out of the summer house to make a run for it. He was maybe nine years old, with Arizona's dark colouring and skinny build, but without any of the Taylor confidence - total y the

opposite, in fact. He seemed scared, disorientated, not sure which way to run. And he dropped his pad and paper on the lawn so I hurried across to pick it up for him. 'Here,' I said, offering it back.

I caught a glimpse of the line drawing he'd been making - a detailed, realistic representation of the big house, everything perfectly to scale, drawn freely as if the pencil had never left the paper.

'Raven, I warned you not to leave the house.' Peter appeared round the side of the building. He saw me with the boy and walked sternly towards us.

'Take your drawing,' I urged, pressing it into Raven's hands. 'It's beautiful.'

My words didn't get through the scared rabbit- caught in-a-headlight look. He crumpled the drawing and stuffed it into my jacket pocket.

'Come with me, Raven,' Peter said firmly. 'Your dad was asking

where you were.'

38

t

It was so total y weird,' I told Kim Reiss the next day. 'I didn't even

realize that Arizona had a brother.'

'Did you know her wel ?' My therapist seemed more interested in my relationship with Arizona than the mysterious Raven.

'Nobody knew Arizona. She liked it that way. But even she would let people know she had a brother, you'd think.'

'Why does it bother you so much?'

'The kid was scared. It felt like they were trying to keep him hidden

away, and that's not right.'

Kim didn't take her gaze off my face, like she was reading a road map, tracing the direction of my emotions and thoughts. 'Maybe they have their reasons.'

'And then there's this.' I pul ed the crumpled drawing from my pocket. 'It's the Taylors' house, accurate down to every last pane of glass.'

The piece of paper drew Kim's attention. She nodded, then handed it back. 'I wonder if Raven lives at home the whole time, or if he's away at school.'

'Even so why the big secret?' It had bothered me al night and right

through my school day. 'And how come the house has been cleared of Arizona memorabilia? I didn't see any photographs of her, and there were none of her things lying around. It was like she never existed.'

'Maybe it hurts too much to have reminders on view. We can't judge the Taylors for that.' Kim glanced at her watch. 'Darina, we've spent a quarter of our time on Arizona's situation and I was wondering if there were other topics you'd like to cover.'

'Where do I begin?' I said with a grimace.

'How are things between you and Laura?'

'The same. She stresses, I back away. End of story.' 'And your friend Logan?'

'Ditto.'

'And how are you handling your emotions over the loss of Phoenix?' 'I get through the day,' I muttered. In the early sessions with Kim I'd spil ed my guts - how I stil saw Phoenix everywhere: in school, in town, 39

every place I looked. She told me it was a normal part of grieving. But she didn't get it - I meant I literal y saw my Beautiful Dead boyfriend, materializing out of nowhere, doing his zombie thing.

That was before I learned I had to keep their secret and carry the weight of it around with me every living moment.

So these days, whenever the topic came up, along came the rush of beating wings - Hunter's warning to stay silent. It was happening now -

the flurry of wings about to suffocate me if I opened up to my therapist.

You know something,' I said, standing up with a sudden jerk and making my chair rock on to its back legs. 'I'm through here.'

Kim's eyes registered mild surprise. You want to leave? Our session isn't finished yet.'

'It is,' I argued. 'I only come because Laura set it up. I don't want to

do it any more.'

The surprise smoothed out and was replaced by a calm, professional expression. 'I hear you, Darina. I'm sorry you feel this way.'

it doesn't help,' I cried. 'Talking about Phoenix is too painful - you wouldn't understand.'

Kim stood up too. 'Leave if you need to,' she said quietly. 'But my door's always open.'

'Thanks,' I told her as the wings died down. I was out of there, period. And I wouldn't be back.

Which was a pity, because I real y liked Kim Reiss. She and I talked the same language and she didn't put any pressure on me. I could have got used to sharing with her.

I spent the rest of Kim's hour drinking Coke in a smal diner out in the Centennial area of town, trying to convince myself not to go back out to Foxton until I'd discovered something useful for Arizona. Go hone, I told myself. Get some sleep. Try again tomorrow.

But I felt the pul of the place, especial y when I pictured Phoenix walking that ridge, standing guard against snooping construction workers or any unwary hunting party heading their way. I had an issue with him

and we needed to talk it through. 40

Go home, Darina! I insisted. What good wil it do to drive out there in the dark?

It was the roar of motorcycle engines that drew me back into the present as a flotil a of Harleys sailed into the parking lot. I recognized Brandon Rohr at the head of the group, and a couple of the other riders as guys who'd been at Bob Jonson's wake.