She grinned. “Come on?”
So we turned, and the hostess took us to a large circular booth in the very back of the restaurant.
“Weed!” called Dylan, and then he was up and out of his seat.
“Hey, man,” I said, grinning, and we bumped chests and growled. Some things you can’t explain. Then Alex broke off from her embrace with Carrie, and came over and folded me into a hug. Alex is a pretty girl, with remarkable green eyes, and it was always painfully obvious why Dylan had fallen for her the way he had. And while I was being maudlin about Carrie’s declaration that she was with me, I have to admit I was proud of how Alex had stood by Dylan while he was being a complete dickhead earlier this year. They’d gotten through it, and looked as happy as I’d ever seen them.
A couple in their early thirties approached. Of course I recognized the guy: everyone on earth with any awareness of pop culture would. Crank Wilson was the lead singer of Morbid Obesity, one of the most popular alt-rock bands of the last decade. He was tallish, but only in comparison to normal people, not anything like my or even Carrie’s height. His hair was bleached pure white and spiked, and he wore black jeans and a t-shirt saying “Chew on this.” His wife, about Alex’s height, maybe five-four, had long and lush brown hair and very pale blue-green eyes almost exactly like Carrie’s.
Crank held out his hand, with a lopsided grin, and said, “I’m Crank Wilson. You must be Carrie’s soldier.”
“Ray Sherman,” I said, and we shook hands. Then the woman came up and grabbed me in a hug. “I’m Julia. I’m so happy to meet you, finally. Carrie’s had a lot to say about you.”
“Mostly good stuff, I hope?”
She smiled, and said, “Sorry. What’s between me and my sisters goes to the grave.”
I chuckled. Then I saw the tiny pixie. Five foot-two, jet black hair with a bleached white stripe in it. Turquoise stud in her nose. Torn black jeans, and a belt made of linked, polished bicycle chains. Black top that revealed just enough to be tantalizing, and icy blue eyes.
“You must be Sarah,” I said. “You look exactly like Carrie described you,” I said, raising an eyebrow at Carrie. She just grinned, the minx.
“Hi,” Sarah replied.
“We ready to eat?” Crank asked. “Julia and I are going to have to bug out early to prep for the show.”
So we all took our seats, and immediately Julia, Alex and Carrie started talking with each other. A couple of minutes later, a waitress appeared and took our orders.
Dylan leaned forward and said, “You been all right, Weed? Haven’t heard from you in a few days.”
I shrugged. “I’m still getting visits from our friends.”
He grimaced, then said, “Let me know if there is anything I can do.”
I nodded. “I will.”
Alex must have been listening with an ear, because she reached out, almost unconsciously, and took Dylan’s hand. It was sweet, and reminded me how lucky I was to have Carrie.
Crank must have noticed the grouping… he and Julia, Alex and Dylan, Carrie and me, leaving Sarah in a sort of odd-girl out position. He leaned forward and said, “What have you been up to, Sarah? Still working on guitar?”
Sarah got a huge grin on her face and nodded, proudly.
“I want to see your guitar later. Julia said it was an old one?”
Sarah got a sly look on her face, and said, “It’s a ‘69 Les Paul Custom.”
Crank raised his eyebrows. “Where did you find that? And how did you afford it?”
“Antique shop, believe it or not. The neck was cracked, so I was able to get it for two grand. And then I had to save for six more months to get it repaired.”
“Worth it,” Crank said. “But where did you get two grand?”
“Oh God,” Alex said, starting to laugh.
Crank raised his eyebrows, so Alex leaned forward and said, “Sarah sold her viola. And half her dresses. And her jewelry. And her laptop.”
Julia burst out, “Mom must have gone ballistic.”
“A little bit,” Sarah said. “But I have that effect on her.”
“Trust me, I get that,” Julia said.
An uncomfortable look passed between all four sisters. Carrie had told me a little about her mom, but not much. I chimed in, mostly to change the subject, turning to Julia and asking, “Where did you two meet?”
She grinned, and said, “I don’t know if I should say with two soldiers at the table.”
I raised my eyebrows, and Crank said, “We met at an anti-war protest, back in 2002.”
I shrugged. “I don’t have any problem with that. Even if we don’t agree politically, at least you were engaged in it. Most people don’t even know there’s a war going on.”
Dylan met my eyes, and it was an uncomfortable moment. And then he did something that I never expected. He lifted his glass toward me, and said, “Fallen comrades.”
I winced, and lifted mine to his. “Fallen comrades,” I muttered.