DRASTIC (Book 4 of the Soundcrush Series)

Chapter 88: Smart Girls Find Heaven

Marley A Year Later

I lie awake past two am, unused to the sounds of the new house. We just moved in a few days ago. It's an older place—in the style of a Belle Époque mansion. and it's a couple of miles from Leed's place, with a beautiful view of both the Hollywood sign and of downtown LA.

Belle Époque means beautiful period. That's certainly what it is, a beautiful time in our life. I think we've had more happiness in our first year of marriage than some people can hope for in their whole lives.

Bodie is back with a vengeance, and he's brought fun and energy and optimism and laughter and love like I've never known.

We honeymooned on the Cote d'Azur for about two weeks and then Darius met up with us, and we spent three months traveling Europe and North Africa.

Bodie said it was Darius' Welcome To Adulthood Gift. Even though he was only sixteen at the time, he had completed his course work for a high school degree and was about to embark on a career, so Bodie and I agreed, it was time to ramp up his life experiences. We showed him the world and the three of us had the time of our lives.

We went everywhere. Except for Ireland. It's really too bad, I'm sure it's a beautiful place, but we steered clear. Just in case.

It was wonderful. It was the first time I have ever witnessed Bodie perfectly relaxed and uncalculating. Every day was an exciting adventure and every day Bodie was a perfect companion, lover, friend, husband, father. I didn't think it was possible to be more in love with him after our year of love letters and therapy, but having Bodie as my husband quickly removed that idea.

There is simply no comparison to Bodie in the flesh.

The thought makes me reach out to him, but very lightly. He's dead asleep and I don't want to wake him. He has to be up early. Soundcrush has a video shoot—their first since the last poorly performing third album. This is a single—on a movie soundtrack—but the market research says it's going to be a huge hit.

If I lie here any longer, my wakeful presence might disturb his sleep, so I tip-toe gently from the room, planning to nurse my worries over a cup of tea downstairs.

I'm a little surprised to be confronted with Darius—bare-chested, barefoot, in nothing but athletic shorts—sneaking out of a bedroom door at the other end of the open air gallery.

That is not his suite—which is on the the third floor—but the guest room in which Gwen is staying.

His range of emotion at being caught coming out of her room at 2am is almost comical. A tremor of horror, a brief defiant flame, then a sheepish shrug.

I simply give a curt wave and motherly smile and head downstairs.

I'm making tea in the white matte kitchen, admiring the dark grout and remembering how Darius used to spill fruit punch that would run in the seams of Pat's white grout and stain it, when to my surprise, he appears—now wearing a shirt—and chooses a teabag for himself.

"Since when do you drink tea?" I ask, taking the kettle off before it whistles and pouring in our cups.

"Since Morocco. They had really good tea."

"That they did," I muse as I dunk my teabag, lost in thought.

We drink in silence until Darius says abruptly, "Are you upset? That Gwen and I...I mean...I figured you knew..."

I regard my seventeen year old son, who is tall and handsome and intelligent and caring and now, with the success of his album, successfully installed in a lucrative career. He is an adult in every way but chronologically.