:: chapter two ::

“Taylor.”

I rolled over in bed, in the opposite direction from the voice calling my name. If its owner thought I was getting up anytime soon, they were sorely mistaken.

“Wake up, Taylor.”

This time, a sharp poke in the region of my side accompanied the call for me to wake up. I shifted away from it as far as I could without falling out of bed.

“Jordan Taylor Hanson, if you don’t wake up right now I’m letting Ratchet up on your bed so she can lick you awake!”

“‘m awake,” I mumbled.

“Your eyes are still closed, Taylor. There’s no way you’re awake if you haven’t opened your eyes yet.”

I rolled back toward the voice and opened my eyes, squinting as everything slowly drifted into focus. Jessica stood at my bedside, eyeing me with her hands on her hips and one eyebrow raised. “About time you woke up,” she said.

“What time is it?” I asked as I eased myself upright.

“Eight-thirty.”

“Oh for…” I let out a quiet groan and ran my fingers through my hair. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I muttered. “What the hell did you get me up this early for?”

“It’s not that early.” Jessica sat down on my bed, adjacent to my knees. “And I got you up because one, you have to take your medication. Two, Ratchet needs to be walked. And three, I distinctly remember you asking me to wake you up before I went out to class.”

“You don’t have class until nine-thirty,” I pointed out. I reached back and pulled one of my elastic bands off of the nearest bedpost, and gathered my hair back into a ponytail. “I would think that an hour is more than long enough to get there. It doesn’t take that long on the subway.”

“I need to go to the library first thing this morning, though. So the earlier I get there, the better.” She smoothed the wrinkles and creases out of my bedspread. “Mom called about ten minutes ago,” she said idly. “Her and Dad are going to be coming up here in a few weeks.”

“They got somewhere to stay?”

“Probably a hotel or something, unless either of our other brothers is feeling charitable.” Here she shrugged. “Which as we both know is very doubtful.”

“Hmm,” I said noncommittally. “Anything else I should know?”

“Well, I won’t be home until past six this evening – I’ve got a late dance class. And Mark’s left already, he’s got practice over at Zac’s all today. Just order in pizza for dinner or something, and I’ll eat when I get home. Unless you’re feeling up to cooking.” She studied me inquisitively. “And it looks to me like you don’t feel much up to it.”

“Well, what do you expect? I did a full day’s work yesterday, and-” I broke off, listening hard. “Is it raining?”

“Uh huh. Started about half an hour ago. I don’t think it’s cold enough to snow yet, but you never know – it might later on.”

“Well, that explains why I’m aching all over,” I grumbled, and flexed my fingers experimentally.

“You know what’ll fix that? A good, long, hot shower. Always works for me after dance.” She reached over and put her left hand on top of mine, and gave my hand a slight squeeze. “Take it easy today, all right? The concert’s next Saturday, and you need to be up for that. I’ll see you tonight.” She went to stand up, but seemed to think better of it. “Oh, speaking of the concert, Mark wanted me to ask if you were planning on bringing a friend with you. He needs to know by tomorrow afternoon, otherwise he won’t be able to set aside any tickets.”

“I wasn’t even planning on going, Jess.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. And hey, if you’re stuck for ideas, why don’t you ask Schuyler’s friend? She seems really nice.” She grinned at me. “Plus she seemed to be very taken with you, and not for the reason most of them are either.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Good. There’s coffee in the kitchen if you want some. Mark brewed a pot before he left.” She stood up and headed for my bedroom door, turning back at the very last minute. “And don’t you dare go back to sleep!”

I hid a smile as Jessica left my bedroom, closing the door behind her. While nobody in the world was like my mother, Jessica happened to be an excellent substitute. She’d only been living with Mark and I for the last five months, as housing regulations at Juilliard required first-year students to live on-campus, but in that time she had more than proved that we had made the right decision in asking her to come and live with us. She didn’t mind the odd bit of cooking or cleaning (though she made sure that Mark and I did our fair share too), she was more than able to calm Mark down when he was in one of his moods, and she ensured I stayed on track with my medication. Keeping me on track with my medication wasn’t exactly difficult, but it was nice to know that someone was looking out for me and my wellbeing.

I padded barefoot out into the kitchen at around ten minutes past nine with my laptop under one arm and the pill bottles containing my morning medication in my free hand, scratching Ratchet with my toes as I passed by her basket. Ratchet – Ratch for short – was a beagle and my assistance dog, and had been a companion of mine since just before I had joined Mark in New York back in 2005. Her tail thumped against the sides of her basket as I hit the sweet spot at the base of her right ear, and I smiled before continuing on into the kitchen, leaving my computer on the kitchen table.

While I waited for my computer to fire up, I poured myself a mug of coffee and sipped it while I watched the rain fall outside the kitchen window. In my mind, there was nothing worse than a rainy day – it wreaked havoc on my joints and made me ache all over, it was bad for business, and it generally just made me feel horrible. Unless I wanted my camera and other gear to get soaked I couldn’t work when it rained, being as a lot of the time I worked outside, and so it resulted in a loss of a day’s pay at the very least.

I became so caught up in watching the rain that when the small alarm clock we kept on the shelf next to the refrigerator started beeping, it startled me. Only my fingers tightening around the handle of my mug kept me from dropping it in the kitchen sink.

“You idiot,” I muttered. I finished my coffee and set my mug down in the sink, before fetching a clean glass from the draining rack and filling it with water from the tap. It didn’t take me long to take my medication, and I drained my glass before sitting down at my laptop. After I’d gone through all the new emails that had come through overnight, directed most into their respective folders and trashed almost all the rest, there was one left. It had been sent by Schuyler’s roommate.

Before reading the email, I clicked my Sent Items folder and read the most recent email I had sent out, at around eleven the night before.

Isobel,

The photographs I agreed to send to you are attached as a zip archive. Please let me know if you would prefer smaller versions of any of them, as it’s no trouble at all to resize them.

Your editor is most likely aware of what I charge for the use of my work. If he isn’t, please inform him that I charge a base rate of $200, with an additional $80 per image used. I’ll pass on my bank account details when I have a rough idea of how many shots will be used in conjunction with your article.

At the risk of sounding completely unprofessional, it was a pleasure to meet you today. I hope to have the opportunity to work with you again sometime in the near future.

Regards,

Taylor Hanson
78th Street Productions

From there, I clicked back to my inbox and read the email that Isobel had sent to me, at ten minutes after midnight.

Taylor,

Thanks for sending the photographs over – they’re fantastic! I think Stephen (my editor) will be very pleased. I have forwarded your email to the design department at the magazine, and I’ll inform Stephen as to your rates when I go into work in the morning. The next email you receive from me will most likely be accompanied by a list of the images that have been chosen for use with the article.

I apologise for the shortness of this email, as it’s very late, but be assured that it was a pleasure to meet you too.

Isobel

The email was shifted into my Freelance folder once I’d finished reading it. “Ratch,” I called as I stood up and stretched. “Time to go for a walk, girl.” I heard Ratchet’s tail start thumping against her basket again, and I grinned before heading into my bedroom to get dressed.

When Ratchet and I returned from our walk, there was another email waiting for me in my inbox. Deciding it could probably wait until I’d had a warm shower, I unleashed Ratchet and gave her a quick rubdown with the old towel I kept in the bathroom, before stepping back into the bathroom and turning the shower on. I sang quietly to myself as I adjusted the taps, trying to get the water temperature the way I liked it. “Well I never been to Heaven…but I been to Oklahoma…well they tell me I was born there…but I really don’t remember…in Oklahoma, not Arizona…what does it matter…”

Sure enough, Jessica had been right – by the time I finished in the shower, all my aches had vanished down the drain. I changed back into my jeans and T-shirt and headed back into the kitchen, drying my hair off with a towel as I walked. The email that had come through during my walk, I discovered, was from Isobel.

Taylor,

As I promised, the list of shots the design department has chosen for use with the article is attached. Normally it would take longer, but for some reason Stephen put a rush on it. I’ve also informed Stephen as to what you charge for the use of your work, and I’ll ask Schuyler to drop by sometime soon to get your bank details from you. I would come around myself, but I don’t really know you very well yet – I’d feel as if I were imposing on you.

I hope I get the chance to speak with you again soon – I think you’re a very intriguing person.

Isobel

Well now. That was interesting.

I spent the rest of the morning lying on the couch, eyes shut and listening to an audiobook of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow that I’d downloaded from iTunes, the earphones of my iPod feeding the words directly into my brain. Ratchet was curled up on my stomach once again, as was her habit whenever I chose to spend a day resting at home. The doorbell rang just as I got completely engrossed in my listening, and I opened one eye very slowly to see Ratchet looking at me. “Yeah, I know Ratch,” I said as I hit the pause button on my iPod. “C’mon girl, down you get.”

Once I was free to move, I got up off the couch and headed to the front door. A glance through the peephole revealed that Schuyler was standing in the corridor.

“And what brings you down from the lofty heights of Queens?” I asked as Schuyler stepped over the threshold. Her red hair was damp, and rivulets of water trickled down the sleeves of her green raincoat.

“Isobel called me and asked me to drop in to see you,” she replied as she unbuttoned and unzipped her coat, and hung it up on the hooks next to the door. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.”

Schuyler eyed me with one eyebrow raised. “Why do I not believe you?”

I scowled at her and went back to the couch. “You never do. If anyone is going to know how I’m feeling, it’s me. I was a bit sore when I first woke up, but I took Jess’ advice and had a hot shower after I came back from walking Ratchet.” I rolled my shoulders and stretched my arms out above my head. “It did the trick. Haven’t needed any painkillers yet today.”

“Well, that’s something at least.” She perched on the armrest of the couch. “Have you eaten yet?”

“My God Schuyler, one would think you were my mother,” I muttered.

“Well, have you?”

“No, I haven’t. I’m not really that hungry.”

“You idiot.” She held up a white paper bag I hadn’t seen before now and shook it slightly. “If you jot down your bank details for me so that I can pass them on to Isobel, you can have this. We got a deal?”

“That depends on what ‘this’ is.”

“Toasted sandwich – chicken, tomato and Swiss cheese on wholewheat. I bought it in the Museum cafeteria if that has any bearing on whether or not you want it.”

“I don’t even know why you have to ask.” I got back to my feet and headed to my bedroom. “You zap that in the microwave, and I’ll find my last bank statement.”

Once I’d copied out the pertinent details from my bank statement and handed them to Schuyler, and she had tucked the notebook page into her handbag, I took my lunch from the microwave and joined Schuyler at the kitchen table. It wasn’t long before our conversation turned to the topic of next Saturday’s concert.

“So who are you taking?”

I put my sandwich back on the plate in front of me and eyed Schuyler. “That assumes that I’m even planning on going, Skya. Because really, I have absolutely no interest in sitting in a concert hall surrounded by hundreds of screaming girls and women just so I can see my brothers perform. I’d rather stay home and catch up on my reading.”

“Oh, come on Tay. It’ll do you some good to get out of the house for something other than work or to see your doctor.” She reached over to pinch a slice of tomato from my plate, and I batted her hand away. “It’s just that I was thinking you could ask Isobel to go with you. She knows a little about your brothers, though it’s mostly a combination of what she’s heard from me and what she researched for the interview yesterday. So it’s not exactly unbiased. I mean, I’m a fan and I’m dating your brother, so how could it be? She really needs to experience the madness for herself.”

“And by madness, you mean subjecting her to a Hanson concert. I don’t think I need to remind you that my brothers’ fans are, for the most part, completely batshit insane. Including you for dating Mark.”

Schuyler grinned. “Oh, I know. Which is why you need to take her.”

“Here we go,” I muttered. “You want me to ask her out, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t need to. You forget that we’ve been friends for, what, at least five years now. I know you too well.”

“Well, will you? All she ever does is work. She was exactly the same in high school and in college – so completely focused on her studies that she never let herself have any fun. There is a whole world out there, and you are the perfect person to show it to her.”

I sighed. “Okay, fine.” I got up from my seat and fetched the cordless phone from its wall cradle. “I hope you realise that you’re the second person today to tell me that I should ask her. Jess was the first.”

“Well, you know what they say about great minds.” Schuyler took the phone from me and punched in what I supposed was Isobel’s work number. “She’s at work right now,” she said as she handed the phone back to me, “so I’d make it quick.”

“Yes, Mother.”

A voice I didn’t recognise answered the phone after a couple of rings. “High Fidelity editorial department, this is Anna speaking.”

I swallowed hard before speaking, suddenly nervous. “Hi, would I be able to speak with Isobel Reynolds, please?”

“May I ask who is calling?”

“Taylor Hanson.”

The next voice I heard was one I definitely recognised, even though I’d only heard it once. “Taylor?”

I couldn’t help myself. The instant I heard Isobel’s voice, I grinned. Schuyler snickered, and I gave her the finger. “Hey Isobel,” I said. “I know you’re probably busy so I’ll make this quick, but I was wondering if you were free next Saturday evening.”

“I’m pretty sure I am.”

I traced a waxy ring on the tabletop with my left index finger. “Well, my brothers’ concert is next Saturday, and I was wondering if you’d like to come to the show with me.”

Isobel was quiet for a little while. The next words she spoke were slightly quizzical.

“Why are you asking me? I’m not a fan, Taylor – I’d be out of place there.”

“Well, no, you really wouldn’t be. You’d be amazed at the number of people who come to Hanson concerts and drag their siblings, boyfriends or girlfriends along. Most of the time, those people aren’t fans either.” I met Schuyler’s gaze briefly. “Mostly I was thinking you’d like to experience the madness first-hand. I know that Schuyler’s a fan, and I figure that what you’ve heard from her is a bit biased.”

Isobel chuckled. “Oh, it’s biased all right. Schuyler wouldn’t know what objectivity was if it bit her on the backside.”

I let out a chuckle of my own. “So will you come? It’s just that I have to tell Mark pretty soon if I’m inviting anyone – he handles ticket requests within the family, and the deadline’s tomorrow. After that, he can’t set any tickets aside.”

“What time?”

“Well…” I caught Schuyler’s eye and mouthed “Get Mark’s schedule book for me” at her. She got up and dashed into Mark’s bedroom, returning with a thick red-leather bound book. I took it from her and quickly flipped it open to February 10. Written there in Mark’s left-slanting print was Concert at Radio City – doors open 6:45pm for 7:30pm start – Hanson takes stage at 8:15pm. “The concert starts at seven-thirty, but I can pick you up at six. I’m supposed to be there when my brothers arrive, just in case they want me to work during the show. I doubt they’ll ask me to do anything, but I really don’t know what they’ll decide.”

For about half a minute, I thought Isobel would say no. I was about to give it up as a bad joke when she spoke again. “Six it is. Do you need my address?”

“I can get it from Schuyler. She’s here anyway.” I tapped the tabletop with my fingertips. “I’ll see you next Saturday, then.”

“Indeed. See you then, Taylor.”

“See you.”

I hung up and looked over at Schuyler. She was grinning fit to rival Lewis Carroll’s Cheshire Cat. “Get that grin off your face Schuyler, it’s just a date,” I said as I closed Mark’s schedule book and stood up.

“‘Just a date’?” Schuyler echoed, sounding incredulous. “Taylor, when exactly was the last time you went on a date?”

“Senior year of high school, not that it’s any of your business.”

“So it’s been, what, nearly six years?”

“Eight,” I corrected absently.

“Eight, then. That is a fucking eternity.” I turned back from the kitchen sink, where I’d been rinsing my lunch plate off so it could be placed in the dishwasher, to see Schuyler getting up out of her seat. She went over to the refrigerator and unclipped the marker from the whiteboard that Mark and I kept on the freezer door. “You and Isobel are going to be good for one another,” she said as she scribbled out something. “Trust me. I need to head back to work – if I don’t see you before, I’ll see you next Saturday night.”

Once I had closed and locked the front door behind Schuyler, I looked at what she had written on the whiteboard. It was directions to her apartment building, written on the assumption that I would be taking the subway out to Queens. It was as if she had read my mind – I’d been planning to leave my car at home on Saturday night, because I knew the traffic was bound to be insane. It usually was on the weekends.

For once, one thing was definitely certain – next Saturday night was bound to be very interesting.

Concert day, as far as bad days went, was one of the worst I’d had for a very long time. What woke me up late that afternoon wasn’t my alarm, Ratchet scratching at my bedroom door, or even Jessica yelling at me to get out of bed. It was the fact that I was so stiff and sore that I could barely move.

“Tay, time to get up.” I felt my mattress dip down as someone sat beside me on my bed, and a hand tucked my hair behind my ears. “It’s four-thirty. You need to get ready to pick Isobel up.”

I turned my head toward the voice and opened my eyes. “Jess?” I croaked out.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I don’t feel so good,” I mumbled. “And I can barely move.”

“You don’t look so good, either.” Jessica put the back of her right hand against my forehead. “Well, you’re not running a fever, so that’s something to be thankful for.” I felt her thumbs start to knead my shoulders. “If you don’t think you can make it to the show tonight, I can call Isobel and let her know you’re not feeling well. I’m sure she’d understand.”

“I’m not dying, Jess, as much as I feel like I am. I’ll survive.”

“You’re sure?” Jessica asked, sounding unsure, and I nodded a little. “Okay. But I want you to promise me a few things.”

“Anything.”

“Take your wheelchair with you. I really think you’re going to need it tonight. And don’t take the subway, please – I know the traffic’s going to be murder, but you need to conserve as much energy as possible. And that means driving.” She paused. “And If you really start to feel like shit, go backstage straight away. I’m going to see about reserving one of the couches so you’ve got somewhere to lie down if you need to.”

“Sure thing,” I agreed. “I can do that.”

“Good.” She gave me a smile. “Come on. Once you’ve taken your meds you’ll probably feel a lot better. And then you can hop in the shower.” She took a few locks of my hair in her fingers. “You really need to wash this rat’s nest, Tay. There’s so much grease in it, I could probably use it to cook with if I really wanted to.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“It’s true, though.” She snickered quietly. “Come on, up you get and take your meds. I’ll find you something to wear while you’re in the shower. Mark should have some coffee made by the time you’re finished.”

“You sound like Mom,” I informed my sister.

“I fail to see how that’s a bad thing.”

After I’d taken my medication and a steaming hot shower, I was beginning to feel considerably more human. I padded back to my bedroom with a bath towel wrapped around my waist, rubbing my hair dry with another towel as I walked. Laid out on my bed, I could see from the doorway, were my favourite jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and a black button-down short-sleeved shirt.

“Jess,” I called out as I studied the outfit my sister had put together.

“Yeah?” her voice floated back.

“Whose shirt is that? The black one, I mean.”

Jessica didn’t answer me for a while. I looked back over my shoulder to see her coming up behind me. “That would be Mark’s,” she replied. “I stole it out of his closet.”

“Jess, there’s a reason I don’t wear black,” I said, trying not to sound too exasperated. “It makes me look washed out.”

“That’s where you’re completely wrong, brother mine,” Jessica replied. “You and Mark have exactly the same colouring, and he looks fantastic in black.” She pushed at my shoulder. “Go get dressed. You’ll be late picking Isobel up at this rate.”

“How is Schuyler getting there?” I asked.

“Mark’s going to drop by her place at about six-thirty.”

“Ah.” I stepped into my room. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

It took me slightly longer than fifteen minutes to get dressed. By this time it was almost half-past five, and time for me to head over to Queens. As I was lacing up my boots I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror on the back of my bedroom door, and I realised that Jessica had been right – I did look good in black. I straightened up and ran my fingers through my hair, and picked an elastic band up off my desk so I could tie it back. From there it was a matter of grabbing my wallet, phone, iPod, messenger bag and my car keys, and heading out into the living room. My wheelchair was already in my car, which made it one less thing I had to drag downstairs with me.

“Untuck your shirt,” Jessica called from where she sat on the couch. “And unbutton it – it looks better. Your coat’s over there.” She nodded toward the coat hooks next to the front door. “Tell Skya I’ll see her when she gets there.”

“What about my coffee?”

“Schuyler’ll probably have the kettle going by the time you get there. Now go – you’re going to be late the way you’re going. I’ll see you when you get to the show.”

I snapped off a mock salute, and Jessica laughed before waving me off out the door.

A few minutes before six, I arrived at Schuyler and Isobel’s apartment. I’d opted to leave my wheelchair in my car, reasoning that I’d need it more when we got to the concert. Entirely aside from that, Schuyler’s apartment building didn’t have a lift. I kept an eye on the time on my phone, and as soon as six o’clock rolled around I rang the doorbell. Schuyler opened the door barely a minute later, and frowned when she saw me standing on her doorstep.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” she asked in a low voice as she let me into her apartment. “Pardon my French, but you look like shit.”

“Yeah, I know I do,” I said with a quiet sigh. “Believe me, I looked a lot worse an hour and a half ago.” I gave Schuyler a small smile. “And yeah, I probably should be in bed, but I did invite Isobel out tonight. I’m not dying, even though I feel like I am, so I see no point in breaking our date.”

Schuyler seemed to be satisfied with this. “See if you can find somewhere to sit,” she said, waving me toward the living area of the apartment. “I’ll make you some coffee and see what’s keeping Isobel. She should be ready soon.”

“Thanks Skya,” I said gratefully, and headed over to the couch. As Schuyler busied herself in the kitchen, I could hear a voice singing part of a song I knew rather well, thanks to Jessica’s obsession with a certain rock opera.

“The heart may freeze, or it can burn…the pain will ease if I can learn…there is no future, there is no past…I live this moment as my last…there’s only us, there’s only this…forget regret, or life is yours to miss…no other road, no other way…no day but today…”

I knew Schuyler couldn’t sing, as she had demonstrated on more than one occasion, so I knew it could only be one other person – Isobel. She was perfectly on pitch, her voice rising and falling with the notes.

“I take it that Isobel is a Rent fan,” I said as Schuyler handed me a large mug of black-as-pitch coffee.

“A fan? Tay, she is fucking obsessed. She watches that damn movie at least once a day. I’m surprised that she hasn’t worn the DVD out by now.” She chuckled softly.

Isobel came out into the living room just as I finished off my coffee. I didn’t miss the look on her face as she caught sight of me. “Holy shit,” she said softly, and she came up to sit down beside me. “Are you all right?”

I nodded. “For now, yeah. I’m just having a bad day.”

“I think that’s an understatement,” Schuyler commented as she took my empty mug back to the kitchen. “Please tell me you’ve taken your meds at least.”

I nodded. “Jess made me take them before I hopped in the shower.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Isobel looking at me inquisitively. “I’m all right, Isobel. I promise. It’s just one of those days.”

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” Isobel ventured, sounding tentative. “It’s okay if you just want to head home – there’ll be other concerts. You really look like you need to rest.”

“Isobel, trust me – this is nothing. I’ve had far worse days than this. I’ll be fine for the next few hours at least.” I eased myself to my feet, wincing as my knees complained. “Look, about last Thursday…I’m sorry if you got in trouble with your boss. Blame Skya if you like.”

Isobel shook her head. “It’s okay, Taylor. He doesn’t mind if it’s quick, like yours was.”

“I still feel bad about it. How about I take you out to dinner before the show? It’ll be my treat.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely positive.” I thought quickly. “Do you like Thai food?”

Isobel went a little pink. “I’ve never tried it,” she admitted.

I grinned. “First time for everything, right? I know a little place not far from Radio City that we can go to.” I extended a hand down to Isobel to help her up. “The owner and I are friends – I go there for dinner a lot when my brothers are working and Jess has a late class. It beats cooking.”