Page 3 of The Deviation
An amused smile curves my lips. “Hey, little sister.”
She tuts. “I’m nineteen now, Cal. Don’t you think it’s time you stop calling me little?”
“Nope.” I’ve replied the same way every year since the day she turned fourteen to my eighteen. “You’ll always be littler than me.” Reaching the front of the line, I quickly buy a burrito and a bottle of iced tea before finding an empty seat at one of the long picnic tables. The nearby amphitheatre is alive with music and cheering, but it’s quiet enough back here to talk. “How was your birthday?”
“I had a morning lecture at uni. Then, at work, I got to spend my whole shift stocking shelves. Barely talked to anyone. It was perfect.”
I snort a laugh. “You know, sometimes talking to other people can be an enjoyable, life-affirming experience. You should give it a shot.”
“No, thanks,” she counters. “I’m willing to overlook your social quirks when I have to, but don’t go trying to drag me into your weirdness.”
Rolling my eyes, I move on. “What did you do for dinner?”
“Chinese food and a bottle of merlot.” There’s a teasing smile in her voice. “Are you jealous? Be jealous.”
I stare at the sadness that is my hastily assembled burrito. “I am one hundred percent jealous.”
“Good.” A delighted giggle fills my ear. “Oh, and I bought cake. I even blew out some candles because… why not?”
The smile slides off my face. “I’m sorry I’m not there. You know I wanted—”
“Stop being stupid,” she grumbles. “They were just candles. You know I like to watch the wax melt.” Her words are quiet now, almost self-conscious. “Who knows, maybe one day one of us will even make a wish or something.”
A sigh sneaks out of me. “I hope so.” We gave up on wishes years ago; it hurt too much when they never came true. But the idea of Hannah sitting alone in our dingy two-bedroom apartment, lighting her own birthday candles just so she could blow them out again… it’s too much.
“Besides,” she says, interrupting my guilt-fest, “we can do it all again when you get home on Monday.” She pauses to clear her throat. “You will be home on Monday, right?”
“Yes.” I don’t allow so much as a millisecond to separate her question from my response. “I’ll be heading straight to the office, but I’ll text you when I reach Brisbane.” The fact she posed the question at all bothers me. “Did something happen?”
“No.” There’s a longer silence this time. Her breathing turns ragged. “I looked through some old photos today is all.”
I close my eyes, my mouth twisting with the need to swear. Out loud. With excessive force and creativity.
“Do you think they remember today is my birthday?” She sniffs. “I mean, parents aren’t supposed to forget stuff like that, right?”
“That’s it, I’m coming home.” I’m halfway to my feet, my food forgotten. “I’ll be there in two hours.”
“Don’t you dare,” she jumps in. “I’m a big girl, Cal. I don’t need you to come rushing to my rescue over every little thing.” I freeze, unsure what to do. She takes a deep, shaky breath. “If you want to make me feel better, tell me about your day. Give me some juicy festival gossip or something.”
My shoulder’s sag, but I sit back down. “All right, fine.” Hannah’s right. She’s not a kid anymore, and she can handle more than I give her credit for. Not to mention, if I leave in the middle of the festival I’ll be kissing my job goodbye. Working at Rush Music Management may not be my dream job, but it’s gaining me rungs on the right ladder. I need to keep my head down and my mouth shut long enough to get where I want to go. Managing my own musicians—and doing it right.
“You won’t believe the shit I’ve seen in the past twelve hours,” I begin. Between bites of burrito, I regale Hannah with anonymised stories of snoring drummers and vocalists behaving badly. “I swear, some of these musicians are like really tall toddlers. I want to take away their liquor bottles and put them down for a nap.”
Hannah is laughing her head off now. “But then you’d wake them up again.”
“True,” I concede, wincing at the thought. “I feel bad about that one, though. That band has been touring non-stop for months. They’re all looking frayed around the edges, but the drummer is a step beyond the rest. Meanwhile, Arthur’s so busy signingnewbands, he’s failed to notice his most valuable asset is on the verge of burnout.” Kerbside Desire are talented, and they work hard. They deserve better than to be flogged to death by a manager who’s already on the lookout for his next new and shiny. “The man is sloppy with people’s lives, and the boss lets it slide. It’s not just unethical, it’s bad business.”
Hannah gives a dutiful hum of understanding, as she does at the end of all my rants. “Remember, you won’t be stuck under Arthur’s thumb forever. Soon you’ll sign a band of your very own, and you’ll take good care of them. That’s what you do,” she adds, “you take care of people.”
The words are nice, and I appreciate them, but they’re mostly bullshit. Yes, I did my best to take care of Hannah. I made sureshe always had a full belly, a roof over her head, and a near-perfect school attendance record. But I was never her parent. Hell, I was little more than a kid myself the day we realised our parents weren’t coming home. No amount of brotherly love could ever fill the hole their absence left behind or repair the damage they did to her confidence.
“You know, if you wanted, you could perform here one day.” I shouldn’t go there, but some days I can’t help myself. “I can see it now. You up on stage, thousands of fans screaming your name.” I cup my free hand around the phone so I can do the whisper-roar. “Hannnnahhhh.”
She laughs, the usual traces of chagrin keeping to the edges of the sound. “All I can see is the heart attack I would have, being in front of all those people. I’m so out of practice.”
The fact that she hasn’t already shut the conversation down lures me in, makes me push a little further. “What about when I’m a big shot music manager? Will you sign with me then?”
This time the silence seems endless. “Maybe.” The word is pinched; it’s placating. It’s also a lie. “Tell me more about the festival,” she says, changing the subject with forced brightness. “Are there tons of hot guys for your workaholic self to ignore?”