Tara Kelly - Harmonic Feedback

The phone rang, and Nicci rushed off to get it. Whoever it was made her frown and leave the kitchen. I turned my attention back to Justin’s niece. She drew horizontal lines now. Her lips pursed together in deep concentration.

“How old is she?” I asked.

“Four,” Justin answered. “She does the coloring thing a lot. I think we have a little artist in the making here.”

“It calms her.”

“How do you know?”

I smiled at him. “I just do.”

Madison paused, her big brown eyes searching the table. She picked up an orange crayon and stuck it in my hand.

“Wow.” Justin chuckled. “I was here a month before I got invited to color with her.”

“I’m just special.” I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Yeah, you are.”

I reached for a blank piece of paper, but she slapped her hand on the pile.

“No,” she said, pulling it out of my reach. She counted through five before handing one to me.

“She’s got an order about them,” Justin said. “Can’t mess it up.”

“What would you like me to draw, Madison?” I asked.

She’d gone back to spirals and humming.

“I drew her a pumpkin. She wasn’t too into that,” Justin said.

I mimicked her rhythm, starting at the corner and making my way down. Coloring always soothed me. The feel of a crayon against paper was satisfying in a way I couldn’t explain to just anyone. But I bet Madison understood.

Nicci walked back into the kitchen. “Dad’s on the phone.”

His eyes widened at her. “He wants to talk to me?”

“He wants to say hi,” she said.

Justin scrambled out of the chair and brushed his hand against my shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

Nicci grinned at the crayon in my hand and sat down in his place. “She likes you.”

“I have a bunch of coloring books at home. She can have some if she’d like,” I told her.

“I think she’d really love that.” She ruffled her daughter’s hair. “Say thank you to Drea.”

Madison repeated her words exactly but didn’t let it stop her project.

“Did you like drawing too?” Nicci asked.

“I still do. It relaxes me.” I kept my eyes on the paper. His sister seemed nice, but I felt as if I was under a microscope. What if she didn’t like me?

“I use a punching bag to relax. We all have our methods.” She laughed. It sounded almost nervous.

I nodded and attempted to smile. She asked me about San Francisco and if I liked Bellingham. Small talk wasn’t where I made my best impressions, but I answered as best I could. I was tempted to ask her if she wanted to pick up a crayon and join us.

“I’m really glad you and Justin met. He was pretty down when he got here in June, but I see a little more of the kid brother I once knew every day.”

I stopped scribbling. “You think that’s because of me?”

She smiled. “Well, you’re definitely helping. So thank you for that.”

I handed my drawing to Madison. “He’s helped me just as much.”

She shuffled it in her pile, a little grin forming on her face.

“Hey, quit talking about me,” Justin said, grabbing my shoulders.

“Oh, I wasn’t saying anything bad. I—”

“I’m only messing with you,” he whispered.

“How’d it go?” Nicci stood up.

He exhaled and massaged my shoulders. “A lot of awkward silence. But it was good to hear his voice, you know?”

She walked behind me. “He’ll come around. I need to get started on dinner. We’ll talk more later, okay?”

“Sure.” He leaned into my ear again. “You want to go back to my room?”

I got up and followed him back to the garage. As soon as he shut the door, I gave him a hug. He looked like he needed it.

“What did your dad say?” I asked, sitting on his bed.

He stood in front of me, hands in his pockets. “He asked how I was. Told me a few friends called looking for me. That was about it. But it’s the first time he’s spoken to me since court. It’s a step.”

“Are you happy?”

He studied my face for a second. “Yeah, I am.”

“You told your sister I was your girlfriend.”

His eyelashes lowered to the floor. “Is that okay?”

“Only if that’s what I am to you.”

“I’d like that.” He glanced up at me, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t identify. Fear or uncertainty, maybe. At least that was what I felt.

“Me too.”

A little smile played at his lips. “Guess it’s settled, then.”

I fell back on his bed. The sheets felt velvety against my hands. “Your bed smells like you.”

“Imagine that.”

“Come here.” I wrapped my legs around his, pulling him closer. But he wasn’t moving. I let him go.

Justin sat next to me. “I want to take things slow with you, Drea.”

My body tensed at his words. I didn’t feel ready for sex, but I didn’t want to be treated differently either. “Why with me ?”

He met my gaze then. “Because I didn’t know the people I had sex with. Not like I know you.”

I looked away and traced patterns against his sheets. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not ready yet. Does that simplify things?”

“Yes.” I glanced up at him. “Does that mean we can’t mess around anymore?”

“No, it definitely doesn’t mean that.” He smiled and then kissed me.

We fell back onto his bed. His mouth grazed my neck, moving slowly to my earlobe. I wondered if the shivering would go away eventually. It hadn’t yet. I moved my hands under his shirt, pulling it up.

“Can I see your tattoo?” I asked.

He smirked. “You’re slick.”

“What do you mean?”

“Finding a way to get my shirt off without having to ask.” He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

My cheeks burned. Considering the only shirtless guys I saw were on TV or the gag calendars Mom’s friends gave her, seeing Justin was pretty exciting.

But I wasn’t expecting silver bars through his nipples. “Whoa. Did that hurt?”

He propped himself up on his elbow. “For a couple seconds, yeah. Then the endorphins kicked in and I didn’t feel much.”

I poked at one of the bars, but tore my hand away for fear I’d hurt him. Just looking at them made me want to cover my own nipples and cringe. Maybe it was different for guys than girls. “Why did you get them?”

“Lydia, our singer, was friends with this guy who ran a tattoo and piercing shop. We weren’t allowed to have visible piercings at school, so she thought nipple piercings would be hot .” He rolled his eyes. “And I don’t know—I’ve grown to like them.”

My fingers ran across his biceps, tracing a tattooed band of black-and-white piano keys. His arms were muscular, but not what Mom referred to as “ripped.” He was thin, but defined. Which I liked. I always thought the whole buff thing was overrated. Most of the guys in my mom’s calendar had bigger boobs than me.

He rolled onto his stomach. A tattoo of a grand staff covered his upper back. A treble and bass clef. Rows of notes. Just like sheet music. Wings sprawled out behind it, stretching across his shoulder blades. They were mostly black but tinged with a little blue.

“It’s the beginning of a song I wrote for my mom. Kind of my tribute to her,” he said.

I ran my hands over the ink, admiring the etchings and shadows. “I love it,” I said. “Maybe you can play it for me sometime.”

He propped himself on his elbow again. “Do you have any?”

“What do you think?” I rolled my eyes.

“I was hoping for an excuse to get your shirt off.”

I wrapped my arms around my chest, and my heart sped up. “The room is kind of light.”

“That generally happens when the sun is out.” He gave me a half smile.