Page 35 of Dead Rockstar

“If it's special to you, I'm sure it will be special to me, too,” he said, putting a hand briefly on my knee. It was a simple gesture, but it brought back memories of how Tess had once done the same thing, and I felt an immediate jolt at his touch. But this was different. “How far is it?”

“Five minutes’ drive,” I answered, changing gears and grimacing as my old Blazer made a rusty, clanging noise. God knew what that was. “Jekyll Island is quite small. And Driftwood is on this side of the island, anyway. Once we go through the toll bridge it's less than a mile to the main road, we'll take a left at the roundabout, another mile, and we're there. It's really close. We could walk if we had more time.”

“I wish we did,” he said, still smiling. “That sounds nice.”

“Maybe on a sunnier day,” I said, wondering if he'd be around long enough to see it through.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Let's do that.”

Five minutes later I pulled onto the side of the deserted road and got out of the truck. The wind had picked up; it looked like rain. Phillip got out of the passenger side and stood beside me. “Well, here it is,” I said, pointing to the narrow trail within the trees. “These little cut throughs are all up and down this road for a couple of miles, but I always take this one. I'm a creature of habit.”

“After you,” he said, and I started down the winding trail, thick with brush and sand, hoping it wouldn't rain on us. Phillip had to duck to follow me, the trees were so low. We shuffled through the soft, billowy sand, pushing dead limbs out of our way, passing by dunes, getting grit in our shoes.

“Venomous snake nesting ground,” Phillip read as we passed a faded old sign. “Well, that bodes well.”

“You let them be, they'll let you be,” I said, still dodging limbs.

“Sage advice.”

We walked through the clearing and came out onto the beach, which was totally deserted except for one older couple picking up shells several yards away. They gave us a little wave and went back to their task. The horizon had a gray look to it, the water churning with a dirty, weak froth. “It's going to rain,” I said, holding a hand over my eyes and craning to see beyond the water. “But I don't think it's going to be a storm. Just a drizzle, probably.”

“It's beautiful out here, even overcast,” Phillip said, standing beside me with his own hand over his eyes. “I've never seen anything like this. So many trees.”

The entire span of the beach was covered in bleached, dead trees. Each of them was unique, gnarled and twisted and stripped into its own grotesque, sloping shape. I pulled myself up onto a J-shaped piece of driftwood into a sitting position. “Aren't they gorgeous?”

“Eerie,” he said. “Beautiful.”

“Like something out of a Tim Burton movie,” I agreed.

“I don't know any of his movies besides Edward Scissorhands,” he said with a smile. “But I could totally see this on one of our album covers.” Looking out at the expanse of gray beach and gnarled, bleached trees, I had to agree.

“I used to come out here every day and go for a run,” I confessed, smiling as he pulled himself onto the driftwood beside me, lowering into a crouch, his head resting beside my right leg. “It’s always been my favorite place. Was my favorite place. This is the first time I've been in months.”

“Why did you stop coming?” he asked, staring out at the water. The wind whipped his black hair into a frenzy around his face.

“Because of Tess,” I said. “My ex-husband.” I sighed, and ran my hands over the smooth, stripped bark. “We had our wedding reception here, what seems like a million years ago. It was such a beautiful night. Everything was perfect. We hung paper lanterns from the driftwood, and we set up tables with all different colored tablecloths. People brought dishes to share, and we had sangria and s'mores and after dark we lit a bonfire and sang and danced around it.”

“That sounds cool.”

“It was. It was perfect.” I felt sad at the memory. “I remember sitting there on the sand, in my white sundress, and the sea air was cold on my shoulders. Tess came and put his suit jacket over me, and it smelled like him, and I remember thinking I was the happiest I'd ever been.” I swallowed. “I'm pretty sure he was already cheating on me by then.”

Phillip was quiet, listening.

“We used to come out here all the time together. It was our place. I guess once he left...it was just too hard, to come out here. Among all those memories. It feels like it's his place now.”

“No,” Phillip said, resting his cheek briefly against my leg, a movement that was friendly and tender but somehow felt sensual. “It's your place. Don't let him take it away from you, not if it means so much to you.”

“You're right,” I said. “But sometimes it's just so hard to let go. Of pain. You know?”

“I do know.” He paused for a moment, and I watched as his face lit up with a sardonic smile. “Did you ever read anything about my wedding?”

“A little bit,” I said. “But I'd love to hear your version.”

He scratched at a speck on his black jeans, his face thoughtful as he remembered. “Barb hired a camera crew from a metal mag to film the day, even though I told her I didn't want that. They followed me everywhere, even into the bathroom while I was getting ready. I was a ball of fucking nerves and I wanted a drink, but I wasn't going to start mainlining shots with a camera in my face.” He shook his head. “I finally yelled at them to get the hell out, and that was the portion of the video that made MTV. Me, standing in a bathroom half-dressed in a tux that didn't fit right, yelling at a cameraman, my stupid hair flying all over the place, because somebody made off with my comb. On my wedding day. Meanwhile, Barb and her mother got into a screaming match just outside the chapel, and somehow Barb's veil got ripped off her head and stomped on. All the guests, who were already seated, heard them carrying on, and when I walked up to the pulpit to get into position, everybody was giggling. Barb comes out on her dad's arm, and there's a giant shoeprint from her mom's Manolo right in front of her face.”

“Yikes,” I said. “But still, it could be worse.”

“Oh, it got worse,” he said with a choked laugh. “We got through the ceremony okay, even though I forgot half my vows. But the at the reception everybody got rip-roaring drunk – having an open bar for a bunch of musicians and junkies is a mistake, just FYI – and Kim actually passed out on top of the ice sculpture. He sort of stumbled into it, knocked it over, and was out cold on top of it. Almost looked like he'd passed out trying to hump the thing. Then he just laid there in a puddle of melted ice and everybody danced around him, dodging the wet spots.”

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