You Say Goodbye Read online

  Sean cleared his throat. “Hendrix,” he answered.

  Offering him no more than a blank expression, she returned her attention to the dog, now lying on his stomach as the woman scratched his head.

  “Hi, Hendrix,” the girl murmured.

  “I guess you already know we’re your new neighbors,” the woman said, rising to her feet and extending her hand. “My name’s Stephanie Michaels, and this is my daughter, Kayleigh.”

  “Hello,” he said, hesitating before offering his hand.

  “You’re Sean Hightower, right?” Stephanie asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “When our real estate agent asked me if I’d heard of you, I told her ‘Looking Glass’ was a favorite song of mine back in college. I still turn it up whenever I hear it on the radio. “‘Confusion,’” she started to sing, “‘don’t know right from wrong. Confusion, don’t know weak from strong. Am I lost for good or will this feeling pass? It’s like I’m stuck inside the looking glass.’”

  “Sorry, Mrs. Party Food,” Kayleigh said, displaying her first sign of emotion by looking pained, “but you don’t sing too good.”

  Stephanie laughed. “Sorry about that, Sean.”

  “Mrs. Party Food?” he asked.

  Stephanie rolled her eyes and grinned. “I run a catering business,” she said. “That’s a name Kayleigh’s given me. She got the idea from Mr. Clean and Mr. Coffee. My husband is Mr. Flowers because he owns a couple of landscape nurseries, one in Montebello and another in Tustin.”

  “My half brother, Anthony, is Mr. Marine,” Kayleigh explained. “He used to be Mr. Computer, ’cause he’s really smart with that stuff. But now he’s Mr. Marine.”

  Stephanie offered a tight smile that seemed shaped in sadness. “Anthony’s my oldest son,” she explained, “from a previous marriage. He was a tough kid who gave me a lot of trouble, but when Kayleigh was born it was love at first sight. He was like a third parent. And when she got sick...” Clearing her throat, her eyes narrowed as she bit her lip, pausing for a moment before continuing. “When she got sick, the fevers, the pain, the bleeding, the fatigue, his life really turned around after that.”

  “Is he over in the Middle East?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head, “he’s stationed in Twentynine Palms for now. But it’s impossible not to worry about it. You never know, right?”

  Sean kept his passionate opposition to the Iraq war to himself.

  “I miss him, Mama,” Kayleigh said, her voice almost too low to be heard.

  “I know you do, honey,” she said, reaching out to stroke her daughter’s arm. “We all miss him.” Brushing a strand of hair back from her forehead, Stephanie looked back at Sean. “Anthony wants to become a software developer. The Marine Corps offers great job opportunities in computer science, and this was his chance to get a degree.”

  Kayleigh, her increasing comfort level now apparent, approached Sean almost shoetop to shoetop. “Anthony taught me how to use the Internet,” she said. “I can find things all by myself now.”

  Sean looked down at the pale, zero-shaped face, noticing the skin rash around her right cheekbone and upper forehead for the first time.

  “That’s great,” he said, offering a quick nod of his head.

  “Thanks,” she replied. “My other brother’s name is Randy,” she told him. “He likes to ride his skateboard all the time. Do you know what I call him?”

  “Mr. Skateboard?” Sean asked.

  Kayleigh’s mouth opened in obvious surprise. “Yeah!”

  “Mom!” a boy’s voice yelled from the window. “Dr. Maginnis is on the phone.”

  The woman looked back at Kayleigh before returning her attention to the boy at the window. “Randy,” she called back, “come out here and stay with your sister.”

  “But I’m busy with something!” he cried out.

  “Randy!” Stephanie shouted. “Randy!” Getting no response, her shoulders sagged for a moment before she spun around and looked at Sean. “I’m going to kill that kid, Sean,” she said, “but it’s Kayleigh’s doctor, and I’ve been waiting to hear about some test results. Would it be all right if you stayed with her for a few minutes? I’ll stand by the window to make sure everything’s okay.”

  The request caught him off guard.

  “Wanna buy some lemonade?” Kayleigh asked.

  Sean hesitated, his jaw tightening as his mind raced in confusion, transported from a decisive clarity of purpose just a few minutes before to a forced, unintended deviation. The woman needed to take the doctor’s call, and her stupid son refused to come outside. What else could he do?

  Chapter 8

  Lifting Hendrix, he clutched the dog to his chest before extending his free hand to help Kayleigh to her feet.

  Her initial unsteady gait reminded him of those videos he’d seen of foals when they first stand. Plopping herself in the chair, she took a Styrofoam cup from the stack.

  “I’ve seen you a few times out here,” he said.

  “Uh-huh,” she replied, releasing lemonade from the spigot with the studied concentration of a lab technician.

  “Are you saving your money for something?”

  “Uh-huh,” she repeated. “The money’s not for me, though. Did you see the big sign my daddy taped on the front of the table?”

  Sean took a few steps forward to look.

  “Why does it say ‘Alex’s Lemonade Stand’ instead of ‘Kayleigh’s Lemonade Stand’?”

  Kayleigh’s mouth opened, and for a moment Sean thought she might drop the cup. “You don’t know about Alex’s Lemonade Stand?”

  “Never heard of it,” he said, taking the drink from her hand.

  “It raises money for doctors so they can cure cancer,” she explained. “To help kids like me.”

  Sean nodded. “And a guy named Alex started it?”

  “Alex wasn’t a guy, silly,” she replied, rolling her eyes at Sean’s question. “It’s named after a girl named Alexandra Scott. She sold lemonade in front of her house and got real famous. Now Alex’s Lemonade Stands are all over the world.”

  “The world?” Sean repeated, surprised at the fact. “She must be very proud of herself.”

  “I guess she was,” Kayleigh answered, her voice subdued and distant. “But she died when she was eight years old.” Kayleigh looked down at the ground for a moment before raising her head to look at Sean. “She had cancer, too.”

  Sean studied Kayleigh’s expression, which, to him, seemed like a mix of sadness and defiance.

  “How old are you?” he asked.

  “Ten,” she answered.

  “When’s your birthday?”

  Kayleigh held her gaze on Sean, a grin spreading across her face. “Guess,” she told him.

  Sean shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “November fifteenth!”

  Grasping his cup, he held it under his chin, placing the rim against his skin.

  “Near Thanksgiving, huh? That’s a nice time for a birthday.”

  “You know what I want?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  “Guess.”

  “A pony?”

  Sean felt a sense of amusement when Kayleigh’s mouth opened wide in a silent, shocked reaction.

  “No!” she exclaimed, giggling. “Not a pony. A cell phone, silly!”

  His eyebrows arched in surprise. “A cell phone?” he repeated. “Do you really think a ten-year-old girl needs one?”

  “Mr. Marine says if I get one we can send messages to each other,” she explained. Pursing her lips, her thin, watery milk skin scrunched together in tight lines. “But my mommy and daddy told me I’m not ready yet.”

  Sean took several sips and found the lemonade too sugary and not as cold as it should be. “Tastes great,” he told her.

  Kayleigh smiled at Sean and extended her hand, palm side up.

  “That will be fifty cents, please.”

  “Sorry, my money’s in the ho
use. I’ll give it to you later, okay?”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise,” he replied, his reflexive answer holding no guarantees.

  Sean kneeled on the grass near Kayleigh’s chair and released Hendrix. For no apparent reason, the dog started running in circles, first in one direction then the other.

  Kayleigh laughed. “He’s funny!” she said.

  “So,” he said, pointing to her jersey and cap, “you’re a Lakers fan, huh?”

  “The Lakers are my favorite team in the whole wide world,” she replied.

  “Do you have a favorite player?”

  “Oh yeah,” she answered, nodding her head. “It’s Coby for sure.”

  Sean nodded back. “I guess he’s most people’s favorite.”

  Kayleigh smiled. “I bet you think I meant Kobe Bryant.”

  “Well...yeah,” Sean said. “Of course.”

  “But I’m not talking about Kobe Bryant,” she said. “My favorite Laker is Coby Karl!”

  Sean’s eyebrows raised in surprise at the mention of a forgettable guy who hardly played and didn’t even suit up for a lot of the games. Coby Karl had been on the team for one year, but he rarely ever played.

  “Why him?”

  “He had cancer, too,” she said. “And now he’s on the Lakers. My daddy says if he can do it, so can I.”

  Sean stared at this sick, fragile child, wondering if she’d even see another year.

  “Your dad’s right, because what Coby’s doing is sending a message.”

  Her eyes blinked several times as her expression turned blank.

  “A text message?” she asked. “To who?”

  Sean held up a hand. “No...that’s not what I meant. Sending a message is an expression. In Coby’s case, the message he’s sending is that he’s showing you and everyone else with cancer that things can turn out okay, so don’t give up.”

  For a fleeting moment, Sean considered the echo of his comment as it pertained to himself.

  Kayleigh’s mouth graduated into a tiny smile. “I like that expression,” she said. “Do you know that on March seventh Coby had his best game of the year? He made two-for-four shooting, and two-for-two from the free throw line. That means he scored six whole points!”

  “You remember all that, huh?”

  “Yep,” she said, nodding her head in prideful acknowledgment. “My mommy says I remember things better than anyone she knows.” She cocked her head and leaned toward Sean. “Well, don’t you want to know the score of the game?”

  “I’m just waiting for you to tell me.”

  “One-hundred-nineteen to eighty-two!”

  Kayleigh turned around so he could see the back of her jersey.

  “See my number?” she asked. “It’s fourteen. That’s because my daddy calls me ‘The Fourteenth Laker.’ You know why?”

  Sean shook his head.

  “Because only twelve players put on their uniforms for the games and most times Coby is the thirteenth. That’s why he’s in his regular clothes a lot. My daddy says after Coby, I’m next.”

  “Look out, Kobe Bryant,” Sean said, winking. “Here comes the fourteenth Laker, Kayleigh Michaels!”

  Kayleigh’s one healthy eye opened wide and the other one fluttered slightly. “I like that!” she said, giggling.

  They both watched in silence as Hendrix rolled around on the grass.

  “Are you really a rock ’n roll star?” she asked.

  Somehow this question didn’t trouble him, coming from her. “For a little while,” he told her. “When your mom was in college, I guess.”

  “Wow!” she said, looking amazed. “That was like, forever ago!”

  Sean closed his eyes and placed a hand over his face, finding her comment humorous.

  “Do you listen to music?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh,” she answered. “How come you’re not a rock star anymore?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “I’d still like to be.”

  “That would be great,” she exclaimed. “Then I could tell everyone I live next door to you!”

  “What kind of music do you like?”

  “I love Hannah Montana,” she answered. “And The Cheetah Girls, too!”

  “And your mom and dad listen to the forever-ago music, right?”

  Kayleigh smiled and nodded her head.

  “Do you like anything they listen to?”

  Kayleigh squinted and looked up at the sky before answering. “I like the Beatles,” she said. “Especially that song, ‘Yellow Submarine.’”

  “Everybody likes the Beatles,” he told her. “Kids know who they are because grown-ups like your parents still listen to them. And most of their songs are over forty years old.”

  “Forty...” she mouthed, soundless and wide-eyed. “Wow! That’s really old!” Her wispy, nearly colorless eyebrows furrowed as she looked at Sean. “I wonder if my mommy and daddy listen to new music. Maybe they’d like that, too.”

  Sean looked at her in surprise. “I like the way you think, Kayleigh, but most adults don’t seem to care about new music.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not?” he repeated. Sean pondered the question for a few moments. “Let’s say you and I each coach a basketball team, okay?”

  “You mean, like Phil Jackson?”

  “Yeah, like Phil Jackson,” he replied. “But instead of regular names on the back of the jerseys, like Bryant, or Karl, there’d be the name of a rock ’n roll band instead. Okay?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Now let’s say you coach the team with the jerseys that have music names from today and I coach the team with the jerseys that have music names from forever ago.”

  “Like the Beatles?”

  “Like the Beatles,” he answered. “I guarantee you, if the players on my team played basketball as good as those bands play rock ’n roll, adults like your parents would think my team was better than yours without even watching them play the game. You know why?”

  Kayleigh’s head shook back and forth.

  “Because the music on the back of my jerseys is all they listen to. And the problem with that is, if they don’t listen to any of the music on the backs of your jerseys, how will they know if your team is any good or not?”

  Sean studied Kayleigh’s confused expression, realizing his analogy had missed its mark by the width of a galaxy. What the hell do I know about talking to a kid anyway?

  “I bet my team can beat yours,” she told him, scrunching her nose into a mass of wrinkled flesh and causing her right eyelid to shut like a fallen curtain.

  He looked back toward the house, but Stephanie remained inside.

  Kayleigh grabbed a paper napkin and wiped the top of the spigot. “Tell me all the names on your jerseys,” she said.

  Turning back in her direction, he continued the conversation. “Oh, there’d be lots of names on my team, but I’d take the Beatles first. Even though most of their music was from the 1960s, when I was just a little older than you are now, they’re still my all-time favorite rock ’n roll band.” Sean smiled, thinking back to those days. “The sixties was the music I first fell in love with. If I picked a basketball team from the bands back then, my starting five could all be from England: The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Who, The Kinks, and Led Zeppelin.”

  “Those are really funny names,” she said. “Is that because they’re all from England?”

  “No, that’s not the reason,” he answered. “I guess they wanted names people would remember. But I could also have a starting five from America that would be really, really good: Hendrix is named after a great guitarist named Jimi Hendrix, and his band was called The Jimi Hendrix Experience. They’d be on my team for sure. Then there’s The Doors, Creedence Clearwater Revival, The Beach Boys, and...maybe The Allman Brothers Band. Their first album came out in 1969 like Led Zeppelin, so they just made the sixties team, too.”

  Kayleigh stood motionless, staring at Sean with a dazed expression
. “That’s a lot of people on your team!”

  “And that’s not all,” he told her. “Just like the Lakers, I need good players off the bench, right? There’d be Jethro Tull, Cream, Santana, The Byrds, Deep Purple, Jefferson Airplane, Traffic, The Moody Blues, The Animals, Pink Floyd, the brilliant but short-lived Buffalo Springfield...”

  Kayleigh’s eyes widened.

  “They have funny names, too.”

  “Maybe so, but the only thing that really matters is their great music.” Sean looked away for a moment before bouncing his hand off his forehead and turning back to look at her. “Wow, I almost forgot about The Grateful Dead! You can’t leave them off the team.”

  “The Grateful Dead?”

  “Oh yeah,” he said. “Jerry Garcia, Bob Weir, Mickey Hart...those guys were great.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would somebody be grateful if they’re dead?”

  Sean’s thoughts ground to a halt as he stared back at Kayleigh’s unhealthy, questioning face.

  “Um...well, yeah, you’re right, Kayleigh. It’s just a silly name, that’s all.”

  “Well, I don’t like...”

  “Want to hear some more names?”

  “Yeah, okay,” she replied, her enthusiasm lessened.

  “All right,” he said, “let’s move into the seventies. I could have a starting five of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, The Eagles, Queen, and The Clash. Bob Seger and The Silver Bullet Band’s another one. Seger started in the sixties with The Bob Seger System, but when he formed the Silver Bullet band they really took off. Same thing with Fleetwood Mac. There’s also other great bands like Van Halen, Elvis Costello and the Attractions, Talking Heads, Supertramp, Aerosmith...what’s the matter?”

  Kayleigh looked at him with a puzzled expression, her hands clasping her hips.

  “You have so many players,” she said. “How are they all gonna play?”