Chasing Sevens

By Liberty Lane

 Good-natured yet naïve Tobi Stone has always been dealt an unfair hand.

Tobi dreams of becoming a successful musician but finds creative spirits are silenced in forgott

• Language: English
• Publisher: Keepers of the Good Vibes, LLC
• Release date: Oct 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988556909

Book preview

Author’s Note

I try to keep my work as raw, realistic, and tangible as I can. Because of this, I would like to include a trigger warning for my readers.

This story depicts or mentions topics that some readers may find troubling, including but not limited to drug and alcohol usage/abuse, childhood trauma, previous loss of a family member, sexual assault, various mental health topics, bullying, and domestic violence. For my readers who may have heightened sensitivity to any of these subjects, please proceed with caution.

♥ ♦ ♠ ♣

To those who sit amidst life’s chaos and

wonder if things will get better—they do.

May you find your own streak of luck.

♥ ♦ ♠ ♣

1

The doorbell chimed from across the room and my head perked up. Another customer had arrived at the Inn.

Well, Tobi, that’s your guy. Go, my manager, Matt, called from behind the counter.

He rolled up the sleeves of his ill-fitting plaid flannel, grabbing a handful of silver foil coffee bags and tossing them onto the shelving below.

A familiar face greeted me, waiting to be seated. The autumn breeze trailed in, leaving the door open. Hi, Mr. Burke! I said with a smile, pulling the door closed behind us. Ya born in a barn? I teased.

Along with the best of people. He laughed, pointing a shaky finger towards the corner of the room. My usual seat, Tobi.

His briefcase started to slip from his grip, but he realized it just in time, catching the handle of the leather bag and following me to a booth by the window.

Will ya be having an Earl Grey Latte today, sir?

He was a creature of habit, but I removed the menu tucked under my arm, just in case. For quite a few years now, Mr. Hal Burke had been coming to the Inn each morning for a routine cup of tea. He was a science fiction writer. Well, he wanted to be. He’d always bring in samples of his work and I’d read them, test-driving from a reader’s point of view. He was quite talented, but couldn’t seem to find it in him to submit his creations to any publishers. I don’t understand why. His stuff’s better than half of what’s on the market.

You know it, kid. The briefcase dropped with a clang, nearly blowing the menu from the table. And boy, do I have a story here for ya! I finally finished up my manuscript.

Oh, really?

Morning exhaustion had set in, but his pure excitement hit me like caffeine. You can always tell when someone’s going after their passion. They beam with pride as they tell you of their work. For me, music struck the right chord, but for Hal, writing was his life. He wrote a bit of himself into each and every character, and I admired the openness of it all. I hoped one day I could share mine with the world, too.

You bet! Ember’s about to trek to the planet Zarnitha today. She’s finally gotten on the spaceship, and you won’t want to miss what she sees when she arrives. You’ll have to read it and find out.

Oh, ya can’t just leave me on a cliffhanger like that, Hal. I gave him a skeptical look as I snatched the rough draft. Customers were a rare sight this time of morning, so I’d have a few minutes to glimpse into the man’s world. As always, his writing impressed me.

Hal, when are you gonna submit this to a publisher? I grabbed the man by the shoulder. You’re insane to keep this to yourself. You’ve got quite the talent.

Been tossin’ the idea around for a while now. It’s just that no one seems to be interested in my work besides you. I’ve tried to show it to my daughters as well as several of my business partners and yet everyone seems to just brush it off. The thing that brings me such joy seems to bore them. I just don’t think it’ll be a success. Everyone today only seems interested in TV or movies. Do folks your age even pick up books anymore? He chuckled before throwing in, I bet your generation doesn’t even know how to open one.

He looked to me for reassurance, and I tried my best to give it.

I like to read, sir. I’m sure I can’t be the only one. Besides, ya don’t know ‘til ya try.

As much as I hate to admit it, you’re right. He shrugged, finally giving the breakfast menu a quick glance. Mighty appreciate your help today, Tobi.

I nodded. Don’t mention it. I’ll go get your drink ready now, just give me a—

I’ll have it to-go, please, he spoke up, interrupting me. Got a novel to submit!

The gent grinned ear to ear as he shoved the pile of papers back into his briefcase.

You got it, sir.

I trekked towards the barista station to make his latte. I’d held this position at the Inn for quite some time now and could seamlessly prepare Hal’s drink. My hands glided around the supplies, and soon a hot, foaming latte rested upon the counter.

Crazy old fella, huh? Matt paused his supply stocking to glance over at me.

Oh, he’s not so crazy. Actually, he’s got quite the interesting story to tell. The man’s got a real talent for writing.

You’ve got to be kidding me. Ain’t you ever listened to him ramble on? He’s practically gone senile, Tobi. He laughed, and it was one of those irritating belly laughs—the ones that practically vibrate the entire room.

Frustration welled up within me at his belittlement of the author I’d come to admire, but there wasn’t much to be done about it. Matt and I were at each other’s throats constantly, but he was still my supervisor, and I needed this job more than anything.

The Earl Grey Inn, my place of employment for nearly five years, was a historical café and teashop, open since the early 1800’s. It was smack dab in the middle of the busiest street in downtown Moonview, if you could consider a couple thousand folk town busy at all. Nestled between a bookstore and a candle shop, the Inn had been trending for a handful of years, but ever since they put a chain coffee shop in a couple blocks over, we’d been at war to keep our customers.

Matt picked up the Inn when his father passed, but it lacked the bustle of business they’d had years ago. It was a poor decision for him to trash talk one of our only repeat customers. Without good folk like Mr. Burke stopping by, the doors would’ve shuttered years ago.

I made my way back across the café floor to Mr. Burke’s corner booth and gently sat the cup down. Oh! I remembered. Let me go an’ get ya a coffee sleeve.

I’d almost forgotten that autumn was coming in. I slipped on the cardboard sleeve, glaring at the moon I’d stamped onto them. The blue ink was a bit smeared, but it had a charm to it all the same.

I sat the steaming drink back in place on Hal’s table, the aromatic and familiar scent of bergamot filling the air.

Thank you, Tobi. As always, I appreciate the service. A handful of dollar bills hit the front counter as he walked out the door, and a cool breeze scattered in a few leaves.

The sun beat down through our large picture window, and I stared vacantly for a moment, watching as folks passed by. Based on the swarm heading towards our rival, you’d think they were paying people to show up. Comet Coins ran their goods at about a dollar cheaper than ours. While you might not get the best quality, you’d definitely save a buck or two on your morning coffee run.

Realizing I’d zoned out, I went back behind the counter and began preparing the vegetables for the afternoon’s sandwiches. I rhythmically chopped each one, feeling the beat as slices of onion and tomato hit the cutting board. The music in my head flowed through my body, and it was impossible for me not to tap my foot along as well. I’d be in a band someday. I’d change the world through music, as music had done for me.

I was center stage, the crowd hollering as my band played. The strum of the guitarist’s opening chords awakened the lust for adventure in our excited crowd. I picked up the rhythm on my drum kit, with the fans clapping along to the beat. Folks from all walks of life were connected through a mutual link—the raw emotion of melody. Our music would change lives.

Tobi! Irritated, Matt interrupted my vision. Could you keep it down over there with the racket? This is a coffee shop not a sports bar! I can’t concentrate on the inventory.

Noted, sir. My spirit sank as I removed the now-chopped vegetables from the cutting board, placing each slice on a piece of toasted bread. As much as I’d love to be on a worldwide tour, banging up a storm on my snare, this was my life right now.

Finally, the morning shift was over, marking the end of my workday. I hung my apron neatly on a hook in the back of the shop on the way to my truck.

I’d worked out a deal with the guidance counselor at Moonview High School. With my situation, I was able to arrive at school at 11 a.m. instead of eight, like most students. Said they counted it as a work-study or something in the books. I’d start my day with a breakfast shift at the Inn before class, picking up an additional shift on Saturdays and Sundays. With the winning combo of me failing to get to school on time, getting held back in fourth grade, and my general lack of academic ability, I was three years or so behind in grade, making me a twenty-one-year-old senior.

While I’d rather just hide it, I know I’ve got to be patient and rack myself up enough credits to graduate. Without finishing school, there’s no way I’d find a decent paying job in Moonview. Unless it truly is possible to become a drumming legend and get discovered by a totally epic rock band. A guy can dream.

♥ ♦ ♠ ♣

The bell marking the end of third period carried across the courtyard as I snapped my truck into the lot. Walking towards the building, a shadow crept up behind me and I turned sharply to face the culprit.

Hey, buddy! My friend, Mitch, met my gaze. How was work this morning?

Not bad, I replied, heading in the direction of my first class. Ya know how it is these days. I’m losin’ all of that awesome chef arm muscle I’d built up. We barely get a dozen customers in there on a good day. The only time we see a decent crowd anymore is for weekend brunch.

Mitch’s hand grazed my shoulder as he gave it a gentle slap. It’s okay, Tobi. It’s fixin’ to get into sweater season, and I’m sure all the lovely ladies will need to wield their local ‘artisan’ lattes. His laugh bellowed, echoing through the hall as we headed to the lockers.

As much as I’d love to believe that, I don’t feel it’s the case now. I really hope the Inn can pull through, ‘cause not many businesses will hire high school labor at a decent wage—especially not one with my track record.

I entered my locker combination, scooping my books and a few loose chips of the old white paint into my backpack.

Aw, don’t count yourself out like that. Mitch stopped at his own locker next to mine and pulled out a mesh sack of gym clothes. He flung the gym bag over his shoulder with ease and knelt to grab a pair of white tennis shoes.

Ya know it’s true! Any sensible employer would take one look at a guy like me and slap a giant red X on my application. I can’t believe Matt hired me in the first place. No one else would wanna take on a guy who couldn’t even graduate on time. I don’t even—

Shut it, Stone, Mitch cut me off. You can’t help the situation you were thrown into. Sure, you may be behind in your classes, but you’re one of the most hardworking guys I know. You’ve handled a difficult situation with maturity. I can’t be the only one who’s impressed.

Guess you’re right. I sighed, slamming the locker door closed. It’s just hard to see the situation from the outside lookin’ in.

I know, but who cares what they think, anyway? One day, you’ll make it. Mitch flashed a smile and closed his locker, heading in the opposite direction towards the gymnasium.

Procrastinating going to my next class, I watched him walk away. It was algebra, known to me by its more affectionate nickname, The Sixth Circle of Hell. Strict concentration was a struggle for me. My mind seemed to always be drifting elsewhere—to work, to daydreams of becoming a musician, and to worries about my younger sister, Candice. With so much else on the brain, the numbers just blend together. I could memorize nearly every drink the rich girls requested at the Inn, yet was unable to work out a simple equation. Every paper I handed in came back with an F.

I could sense the bell creeping in and had no choice but to continue on to class. Slumping into a worn red chair towards the back of the room, I tossed my bag to the side and pulled out the textbook. Just looking at the numbers on the cover gave me a headache.

Hey, Tobi. Seven Sedgeby sat in the seat next to mine, gently kicking her backpack to the side. Her smile lit up the room like a match.

Seven was a breath of fresh air in this dusty town. Her sandy blonde hair contrasted with the slight streak of lavender purple near her bangs—just enough to still meet the dress code. She’d moved here a couple years ago next door to me.

Sev, what’d I miss around this dump? I’d completely spaced out upon her arrival.

Well, not much unless you consider exponents an’ polynomials to be a riveting time. She gave her bangs a quick nudge, revealing a sarcastic half-smile.

The—what? I was confused already, negative five minutes into the class.

Seven understood concepts beyond any of the degenerates in our small rural town. Went right over their heads. I had no idea how the girl could hear anything and make it digestible for someone on my level. She’d make a fine doctor, teacher, or anything, really, if she could ever get herself out of this place.

She giggled to herself, covering her mouth with her hand to muffle the sound. So damn precious. She was every trailer park Romeo’s fantasy.

The next hour drudged on, but all I could think about was her. I watched her, noticing the little things about her. A thin layer of freckles dusted her shoulders, polishing the trophy that she was. She bit her lip slightly when concentrating on an equation, bringing ink to paper, then pausing to double-check her answers. It was like second nature to her.

I couldn’t focus on something like numbers when my favorite subject was so easily accessible in front of me.

The white walls of the classroom felt like a jail cell as I scratched numbers on my paper. Thoughts of everything I needed to get done tonight broke my concentration on the words the teacher was spewing. Every sound drowned out her explanations—sneakers squeaking in the hall, half-sharpened pencils gliding across a sheet of printer paper, keyboard clicks of the girl in the middle row texting away on her phone, and, of course, the irritating tick of the clock. It counted down the minutes to my escape. Absolutely none of this mattered to me. There were about a thousand more productive things I could be doing.

Finally, the bell rang, signaling my getaway. Another day and my reckless mind still hadn’t let me learn even a slight speck of algebra. I scraped the books into my bag and swung it over my shoulder, pausing while Seven finished up. She presented her paper to Mr. Connolley, smiling like she’d just come up with the cure for a plague or something.

Why didn’t ya even try? Seven came back, pounding a fist into me, a little harder than expected for a joke.

Whoa, whoa! Try what? I clutched my chest, guarding against any subsequent blows.

Your paper! You didn’t even turn it in! How’re you ever gonna get outta here if ya don’t get your education? She turned beet-red, the drawback of having such a fair complexion.

Why are ya acting like any of this matters? I’ve been up since the crack of dawn this morning dealing with Matt, and frankly, I’m not in the mood to think about numbers, 18th century literature, an’ Lord knows what else we’ll cover today.

How could she know what was best for me? Even someone coming from a background like hers wouldn’t understand the responsibility placed on my shoulders. I worked full time, provided for a dysfunctional family, was Matt’s personal punching bag, and was somehow also expected to memorize shit we’d never discuss again. I’d grown out of this place.

You may think it's worthless, an’ maybe it is, but it gets you the piece of paper that’s your one-way ticket out of makin’ minimum wage for the rest of your life. She scoffed and packed up her bag, moving quickly past me, edging towards the door.

Wait up, I called, but she’d already taken off down the hall and into the swarm of other bored students.

Maybe she was right in some sense. Having a diploma would open a wider range of opportunities for me, but it wouldn’t make me a better drummer. One day I’d be on stage, living my dreams, but for now I’d have to help others live theirs. I’ve got to get both Seven and my sister into college. It’d be a waste of perfectly good intelligence if those two didn’t live up to their potential.

The hell was that all about? Mitch approached me, limping on one leg to finish putting on his sneakers. He fumbled for the book for his next class.

Typical Seven. I replied, still refusing to step down and admit defeat. I’d probably try a lot harder if I had the energy. He nodded, tossing me an extra granola bar out of his bag before heading off.

The day drudged on, and I just wanted out. The walls were suffocating me. The lessons scrambled my brain, intermingling with my already rampant thoughts. Even a double chocolate chip bar courtesy of Mitch couldn’t give me the drive I needed to make a D in geography. Why’d they bother teaching the students at this school about countries they were too poor to ever go to?

The final bell was music to my ears. Tossing my bag onto the passenger seat, I started the trek home. Seven didn’t show her face the rest of the day, but I hoped she’d be home tonight so I could give her a proper apology. She had good intentions, but I was far from ready to give the future much thought.

I didn’t have a clue what supposed potential she saw in me. I’d always been mediocre at everything I did—average at best—and that title was reserved only for my drumming. It amazed me how I could start the day with such a positive attitude but be beaten down to pessimism and exhaustion come sundown.

On the drive home, the bumper fell off my truck for the hundredth time. I pulled off on the side of the road, walked across the gravel, and laughed as I threw it in the bed. At least my life wasn’t falling apart quite as bad as my vehicle. I’d reattach it later.

It was an ‘85 Chevy C10 that’d been left to me by my Grandpa Richie. He’d taught me just about everything I knew about mechanics and at this point, I was confident I could fix nearly anything on the truck.

Always buy a Chevy, Tobi, he’d say. With a little bit of elbow grease, them things will last a lifetime.

He was a Chevy man at heart, and not wrongly so. That old truck’s had nearly a twenty-five-year run at this point and it’s never had to go to a shop.

Sure, I could have just saved for a new truck, but we’ve had a pretty good go at it. I’d hate to end it so soon.

2

When I reached the driveway of my trailer, I threw the truck in reverse, nearly popping a tire on the unpaved terrain. There was no sign of Candice, and I guessed that she’d stayed behind for theater club or whatever she’d gotten herself into this week.

I tossed my keys onto the cluttered counter, nestled between a coffee canister of loose change and a half-empty bottle of cooking spray. The sink was full of dirty, mismatched coffee cups and bowls—a sure sign of a busy life.

After washing a single bowl and spoon, I poured a bowl of Toasted Oat Marshmallow Cereal from a bulk-size bag. The milk in the fridge was a few days past its date, but I gave it the good old sniff test. It’d have to do because this month’s grocery trip wasn’t for a few more days.

I finished my cereal in silence, with nothing but the sound of birds outside meshing with the persistent ticking of our dusty wall clock, which had been stuck four hours slow for a few years now. I decided I’d go check on my mother and tossed the bowl and spoon back where I’d found it.

The slightly open door revealed a glimpse into her dim, cluttered room. Old newspapers littered the floor, along with three generations of family heirlooms and knick-knacks. Instead of tossing the extra stuff from our old place or from Grandpa’s, she shoved it all in the bedrooms and closets, the cardboard boxes nearly reaching the ceiling.

My mother lay in the fetal position on the bed, cuddled close to a once-white fleece blanket. I flipped the switch and a lamp flickered to life.

Candi? She weakly rolled on her side to face me, expressionless.

Nah, Mom. Wrong kid. I knelt beside the bed as food wrappers and junk mail crunched beneath me. The ashtray on the nightstand overflowed with old cigarette butts from the rare opportunities I’d had to buy her some—mostly for the holidays. It probably hadn’t been emptied in three years.

What’s the matter? Why’d ya wake me?

Nothing. Just wanted to check on ya to see if you’d gotten anything to eat today. Plus, Candice said she had some forms she needed ya to fill out. She’s applying to colleges early. Told me she needed some help filling out her financial forms or somethin’. She seemed excited about it and couldn’t wait to tell you. They’re out here on the table. Why don’t ya come out an’ sit with me for a few?

It’s too much— she replied, choking up.

What is, Ma? It’s just a simple form. I glanced down at her frail, thin body, only partially covered by her blanket, as if she didn’t even have the strength to shake it back into place. Did ya have anything to eat today? You know you gotta eat.

Just… everything, Tobi… I can’t do it. Even the kitchen feels too far. I can’t even think straight. How am I supposed to fill out paperwork?

Disappointed, I rose to my feet and headed towards the door to the kitchen. Popping two slices of bread in the toaster, I listened to the distant chatter of the evening community. The kids had arrived home from school and the parents from work. Living so close to others in the park gave you a real glimpse into how different lives could be. Some families were surprisingly almost functional.

When the bread emerged from the toaster, I slathered it with strawberry jam and put it on one of the only clean plates left in the cabinet. Pairing it with an old canning jar of tap water, I headed back to the bedroom.

Hmmm? She groaned.

Eat this, an’ drink some water. You’ve gotta keep your strength up. I said, sternly.

I’ll try. She paused only a second to look over at me before closing her eyes once more. I left the toast and water on the nightstand and flicked the light switch on, kicking my feet to clear a path in the clutter. A piece of foil stuck to my sock, but I brushed it off, nearly tripping on a ceramic vase before I shut the door behind me.

The frustration I felt towards my mother often balanced out with compassion. Though she’d certainly made her choices, she was dealt a pretty unfair hand of cards. She’d always struggled with mental illness but had been compliant with taking her medications.

At one time, she’d been a model mother—one like you’d see in the pages of magazines. We’d owned a house that my father had inherited, with plenty of space for everyone. At the end of a long week, she’d take us to the dollar store and let us pick out whatever box of candy we wanted. We’d eat it the next day while watching the Saturday morning cartoons. She worked as a teller at one of the local banks for as long as I’d known and sometimes, if we were on our best behavior, she’d sneak home a lollipop for Candice and me.

Some candy for my Candi, she’d laugh, giving my sister a peck on the cheek.

Six years back or so, sometime around my fifteenth birthday, everything changed.

We arrived home early from a day trip and saw a strange car in the driveway. Ma told me to take Candice over to the backyard to play. At first, I thought nothing of it. We kicked off our sandals and started on our way, but we heard yelling from all the way on the other side of the yard. We leaned against an oak tree to listen in, hidden from view.

I didn’t mean nothing by it, Sammy. I swear it. She don’t mean a thing to me the way you do. My father trailed out onto the porch in nothing but boxers, black hair tossed haphazardly into a ponytail and his bare chest exposed to the summer sun. My mother ran ahead of him, all but screaming, as he grabbed her arm to pull her back. It only took me a moment to piece together what had happened.

"I run out to the lake for an hour or so to take your daughter for a swim an’ this is how you go an’ repay me?" Her voice boomed through the air, and I listened to the clattering of glass and metal against the porch. She’d returned inside, beginning to toss his belongings onto the lawn.

What’s going— Candice said, leaning against me.

I quickly put my hand over her mouth to muffle the sound, giving her a look to swear her to silence. I peeked around the tree, careful to do so only when neither of them were paying attention.

Stop throwing my stuff around, baby. Let’s talk this out. He scrambled to pile up everything she’d tossed out—from magazines and knick-knacks to clothes and car parts. It all hit the concrete walkway with a shuddering clang, resulting in a jolt from Candice.

"There ain’t no talkin’ to do here, Wes. You’ve done more than that. You’ve actually went one step ahead of that an’ shown me what kind of man you are. I knew this was gonna happen when you picked up that bartending job."

She’s not even from work, she’s—

Do you really think that explanation’s gonna make a difference now? I went an’ caught her right in our bed. What could you possibly say to defend that? An’ those little love notes in the wash? Thought they was from some girlfriend of Tobi’s. Guess I was completely wrong. I shouldn’t have believed you last time, either. I’m such a fucking idiot.

Sammy, he shushed her, you’re the love of my life, baby. We’ve been together since you was fourteen. Now, why would I stay around that long if I didn’t love you, huh? He wrapped an arm around her, but she swatted it away.

We’ve been together since then ‘cause you decided to go an’ knock me up. I’ve been doing the best I can, Wes. It ain’t easy bein’ a mama that young, but I did it for you and Tobi. Coulda went an’ been a nurse or something if you hadn’t done that. Maybe I wouldn’t just be scraping by. Her voice cracked as she added, Maybe if I’d waited, I coulda been with a man who actually loved me.

He didn’t seem to have anything to say to that.

Just pack yourself a bag an’ get out. She no longer held back her rush of tears and they flooded out, leaving one more thing discarded on the ground. Get her out, too.

My father stood, mouth open, before his expression morphed to a piercing glare. After all I’ve done for you, you’re trying to go and kick me out of my own home? You wouldn’t even have this place if it wasn’t for me. Them kids wouldn’t have a damn shirt on their back or a sandwich in their belly. You’d have nothing, Sammy, you’d be nothing—got that?

It felt like I was watching a scripted TV show—the ones where they’ve got the families screaming in the courtroom and the audience isn’t too sure what side to pick. The two of them scrambled to reach a verdict, but there was no judge there to break up the tension.

You wouldn’t even drag yourself out of bed to get to work if it wasn’t for me. If I didn’t step up, you’d still be wallerin’ around bed at your daddy’s house, wondering how you was going to take care of your baby, he continued, towering over her.

The two of us Stone men were lanky, but we were also quite tall and because of that, he had about a foot on her. His voice carried across the yard, yet he was just inches from her face. I could visibly see her body tense up and my jaw clenched. He continued rambling.

You’re so ungrateful. Really, Sammy? After everything I’ve done you’re gonna— He interrupted his own train of thought, smashing a glass bottle to the ground beside her. My thoughts began to blur.

That’s enough. I made my way across the yard.

Tobi! Ma scowled. Damn it. I told you to take Candice an’ go somewhere else! Why don’t you ever listen? You both don’t need to be seeing this.

I ignored her, turning to face my father. You need to listen to ‘er. Pack a bag an’ get out. You’ve done enough for the day. I won’t have you standing there busting things up on the porch. You’ve got no respect for her, or your daughter, clearly.

I gestured to Candice, who had snuck in behind me. She’d made it to the porch and wrapped an arm around my mother’s waist.

"Why should I listen to you, Tobi? You can’t even shoot a gun. You don’t have no money, no job—you’re