Torn Asunder
Novel
Prologue.
Saturday, October 8 @ 3:34a.m. (EDT)
Somewhere on the open road
Narrowing his eyes against the thick darkness surrounding him, Sebastian Porter rolls from his bunk and pads toward the front of the bus, doing his best to make as little noise as possible.
In truth, it’s hard to hear anything over the roaring vibrations being issued from Russo’s nostrils. An excess of alcohol has that effect on the drummer… and imbibing in an excess of alcohol is exactly how the men had chosen to celebrate their last night on tour. Bas’s gait is still wobbly after so many pints of Guinness, and neither the hum of the road beneath him nor that lone shot of Jim Beam consumed several hours ago is doing much to improve his balance. With a soft grunt, he collapses onto the tour bus’s couch and uses the heel of his left hand to rub at his eyes. With his right hand, he silences the cell phone that’s vibrating in his grip and raises it to his ear. “Dad?” His voice is gravelly with sleep. “Hey. Is… everything alright?”
Jack Porter chuckles. “Hi, kiddo. I wasn’t actually expecting you to answer. It’s late where you are, isn’t it? I figured I’d settle for your voicemail.”
At the age of fifty-one, Bas should understand that bourbon and beer are not to be mixed. Not by him, anyway. He feels off- kilter and unsteady. The room, despite existing in shadows and silhouettes, tilts precariously beneath his feet and he gingerly eases himself into a horizontal position, curling himself onto the sofa. “Is everything alright?” he repeats, whispering the words into the phone.
“Everything’s fine,” Jack assures him. “I wanted to hear your voice, that’s all. Now that you’re a father, you can probably relate to a sentiment like that one, although I am sorry if I woke you up.”
Sebastian slowly inhales through his nose, momentarily matching his own breaths to the raucous snores of Kenny Russo. Momentarily forgetting that he’s involved in a conversation with his father. Can he properly relate to that visceral need to hear his child’s voice? Not entirely. His own daughter doesn’t speak, after all.
“Are you drifting off, kiddo? I can let you go.”
“No, no.” The words, slow and thick in Sebastian’s mouth, taste of toothpaste and hops. “I’m awake.”
“Where are you?”
“On the bus, somewhere between Boston and Lake Caywood.”
“You’ll be home in time for Pippa’s party?”
Bas nods, not immediately realizing that his father is incapable of viewing this gesture. When he eventually remembers that the distance between he and California is vast, he summons enough tidbits of language to form a cohesive response: “I should get there around lunchtime. The party starts at… three, I think?”
“That’s what Lucy told me.”
The mention of his wife’s name stirs something in Sebastian. It’s as if his heart is a porchlight and those four letters, L-U-C-Y, are soft moths fluttering about it. Experiencing a sudden wash of wistfulness and warmth, Bas aches to wrap his arms around Lucy’s slender waist and bury his nose in her sunshiny hair. He yearns to brush his lips over her temple and feel the curve of her smile against his cheek. “You talked to her?” he wonders.
“We FaceTimed,” Jack answers. “I wanted to wish Pippa a happy birthday and wasn’t sure there’d be time tomorrow. I expect it will be a busy day.”
“Yeah,” Bas manages through a yawn.
“You sound exhausted. How ‘bout I let you go? We can connect later this week about your visit. Wednesday at three, right? I’ll plan to meet you and Pippa at the airport.”
“Nah, you don’t need to do that,” Bas insists. “We’re flying into SFO. I can get us from there to your apartment. It’s not a big deal.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Okay, well… let’s still touch base ahead of time, eh?”
“Sure thing, yeah. I’ll give you a call on Monday or Tuesday.”
“Sounds good,” Jack agrees. “In the meantime, get some sleep. I love you, kiddo.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
Sebastian ends the call and places his phone on the narrow coffee table bolted to the bus’s floor. Then, pulling a fleece blanket over his body and tucking it tightly beneath his chin, he falls readily into slumber as Russo continues to serenade his bandmates with a heavy-metal lullaby.
