Page 4 of Caught in a Storm
Billy nods.
“Okay, yeah, this is actually awesome.”
“The drums, right?” says Billy. “They’re incredible.”
The first verse ends, and Nikki Kixx shouts the chorus.
“Hell, yeah,” says Caleb.
“And guess what?” says Billy. “She wrote this, too.”
“Who did, your girlfriend?”
“Yes. Well, no, but…yeah. Margot Hammer, the drummer, wrote ‘Power Pink.’ ”
Caleb nods along. “I’ve heard it, but I guess I’ve never, like, listened.”
Moments like this—a student finally mastering a tricky note, Caleb finding joy in something Billy likes—are among Billy’s favorite things. Love for his son swells, which, as it nearly always does, blooms quickly into physical affection, and Billy reaches over and shoves Caleb. It’s impossible to have a son as big as his and not occasionally shove him. “Today’s lesson,” Billy says.
Caleb pretends to start snoring.
“Today’s lesson!” Billy repeats. “Women aren’t just things for you to look at, you jerk.”
The kid accepts this without eye roll or snicker.
“Your mom, for example,” says Billy. “She’s a woman.”
“Ew, Dad, gross.”
“When you were just a giant baby, she put herself through business school. Now look at her. She’s a VP.”
“Senior VP, actually,” says Caleb.
“Really?”
“Yeah, she got a promotion. Maybe it’s executive VP. I can’t remember. There are a lot of different kinds of VPs.”
“Well, see, then?” says Billy. “Sometimes women are senior-slash-executive VPs.” Billy opens the record cover. There’s a collage of band pictures inside, including a candid of Margot Hammer balancing a drumstick on her palm. “And sometimes women are the best drummers of their generation.”
Caleb laughs and gently shoves his dad back. “Okay, fine. But you do realize you’re totally stanning this lady, right?”
“Stanning?” says Billy. “Wait, that’s a bad thing, right?”
The song fades out and Caleb laughs. “Guess it depends on how you look at it,” he says. “Anyway, are you still cool if we get pretzels?”
Chapter 2
“Dad? Dude. Dad? You asleep?”
“No. And don’t call me dude.”
His dad’s eyes are closed as he says this, though, and Caleb thinks, as he often does, about how much it must suck to be old. When Caleb was little, weekends at his dad’s place were like slumber parties. They’d stay up late watching movies, eating Totino’s pizza rolls, living it up. His dad can’t hang at all anymore, though. After getting pretzels down at Gustavo’s earlier, they listened to the rest of Burnt Flowers’s albums. Halfway through the third and final one, Incessant Noise, his dad pretty much passed out. It’s like he’s an old desktop that’s been set to go into sleep mode at exactly 11 p.m.
“Your back’s gonna hurt if you sleep on the couch,” Caleb says.
It’s no use, though. His dad’s mouth falls open and he starts to snore. Incessant Noise is open across his chest, like he’s a teenage girl snuggling a diary. Margot Hammer and her glammed-up bandmates scowl up at Caleb. “So retro,” he whispers.
Caleb goes to the snack cupboard next to the refrigerator and eats five handfuls of Raisin Bran Crunch, because the pretzel wasn’t enough, and the pizza from before is a distant memory. When he puts the box back, his hand grazes something squishy in plastic. “Oh, dope,” he says. “Gummy bears.”
