Chapitre nombre un. Hope you'll enjoy the sequel, I think I liked writing it more than You Make Me Real

CHAPTER ONE

how could I ever have lost you when I loved you

When Tim first admitted he had got his girl pregnant Curly had been pitying just the thought of that baby. But Jenny was a good mom, despite her rep. Tim obvious wasn't going to win any "Dad of the year awards" but he was doing alright. Though, the two did pass off baby duty on to one of the family a little often. Or a lot often. Right now it was Curly's turn.

It was ninty degrees and sunny this Saturday afternoon, he could be out with his buddies or pulling overtime at work. But he was stuck here, babysitting a year old infant. A year old infant that couldn't stop crying. It was safe to say he wasn't getting any nominations for uncle of the year either.

For such a cute-looking thing, babies were awful annoying. He had done everything: fed it, changed its shitty diaper, and attempted to play with it. Lydia Shepard was a pest; that was final.

Lydia crawled along the floor and her wailing hadn't stopped. Curly had tried to watch some television but that seemed impossible. He had no idea how he even got conned into agreeing to babysit today but he was regretting it. He picked up his hysterical niece and rocked her, he thought maybe he had been too rough but she was giggling now and that seemed like a good sign.

Despite himself, he smiled at Lydia. Two seconds later, she puked all over him.

"Anyone home?" Jenny called out. Curly almost prayed to God, to thank him for taking the little devil off his hands.

"Yeah, me and your little she-devil." Curly said gruffly. He had baby vomit all over his wifebeater and the smell was already getting to him.

"Curly, you're such a jerk." Jenny sighed and Curly all but threw the baby into her hands. She cradled her in her arms and then she was gone.

"Disgusting." Curly mumbled to himself. He pulled of his soiled shirt and flicked it in the wash pile. He couldn't wait until Lydia could watch herself or until he finally moved out. Whichever came first, hopefully that latter.

Angels baby had been a false alarm and Curly thanked the heavens for that. Babysitting Lydia had always beat him out. He couldn't imagine another. Ricky and her still happened to have to go through with the marriage, since Angela hadn't found out until after they said their vows that she didn't have a baby on the way. At first Angela had fought the agruement of an annulment but neither parties parents would hear anything about that. Ricky and Angel were always screaming and fighting at the start, lately they seemed to be getting along a lot better. She had been staying here a lot less and more time at the apartment they shared together. They seemed to actually take a liking to each other now, at least.

After Lydia, the Shepard Gang fell apart. Steven had a rock on Maggie's finger and got a job at the factory, Ricky was wrapped up in his marriage and Tim was attempting to be a good dad, so he stepped down from his pedestal and joined the River Kings. He said not being the leader would give him more free time. All the other boys scattered to various gangs after that.

Curly was lost at that point; everyones lives were getting on so much faster than his.

He got a job as mechanic at Phillips service station just a few months ago and he was liking it. It was a lot less unnerving than coke. It brought in a pretty penny, too. Soon, he figured, he'd be out if his mamas house with the cash he had saved up.

"Curly, ya home?" Steven barged into without even a knock. But Curly couldn't even remember a time when Steven happened to knock.

"Yeah, man." Curly descended the stairs and greeted Steven.

"I thought I'd just give ya a heads up, Amara's back in town."

Curly shrugged, unbothered. "It's been a year, ain't nothin' to me no more."

Steven didn't look convinced and neither was Curly, fully. But he wasn't going to fuss about it, he might not be in a gang anymore but he didn't want to appear to be a pathetic pussy.

"Whatever you say, man. She drove back with Val Rockwell, that's why I know. Val's close to Maggie. So unfortunately, you might be seein' a lot of Amara."

Curly wasn't that bothered by Amara being back, there was a sense of naive excitement but he was seeing somebody else now.

Willow. He saw her one afternoon walking to Spencer's Special. It turned out Willow wasn't even her real name, he had assumed that anyway. Joan was her name and what she went by now. After her bad trip, she never went back to the hippie house. She still had some views he wasn't big on and sometimes her trip still got to her, but she was a nice person to have around. Willow still didn't want to settle down, even after leaving her hippie lifestyle behind; Curly was happy with that, he didn't have to get attached.

"I gotta head off to work now. Babysittin' is shit, if that thing wasn't so damn cute I'd wring it's neck."

Steven laughed, "You adore that thing, don't tryin' tell me different."

"Yeah, shut it. I'll see ya later."

Steven nodded and they both walked out the door.

"Barbeque at my place tonight, Maggie's welcomin' Val home. Bring Joan, you might be needin' her."

That was code for Amara was most definitely going to be at Maggie's tonight. He'd call Joan when he clocked into work.

Curly had never thought he was too good with cars. Cars were just a pastime for him, he liked them well enough. It seemed he was pretty good. His boss even talked up his work.

It was a dirty job, though. He was constantly covered in oil and grease and he was sure his fingertips were permanently black from now on. When he went to Maggie's he had decided he didn't even need to change, he hadn't gotten many stains on his shirt today and he had a flannel shirt he could button up over the dirty wifebeater, he was good to go.

Maggie gave him a dirty look the second he walked in the door. "You couldn't at least tried to clean yourself before walkin' into my house, Curl? You've got grease on your damn face."

Curly ran over to her and wiped his hands in her frilly apron. Maggie squealed and whacked him with her spatula. Steven walked out with a chuckle and flung his arm over Maggie.

"Don't be touchin' my girl, Shepard."

"I'm just playin'."

Maggie rolled her eyes. "Go hand out these beers."

Curly never noticed the others until then, they were all in the backyard. Joan was already here. Val was too, but he found himself staring at Amara. She looked different, but it was a good different. She looked good. Her hair was shorter in a style that reminded him of Stevie Nicks and her style wasn't so prissy; she seemed to have grown up. She had a rock on her finger.

It had a burnt orange colored gem, it was so tacky he didn't know how it wasn't the first thing his eyes caught. He wondered if whoever gave it to her knew she fucking hated orange.

"I've got drinks." Curly announced. He watched Amara's head snap up. She did not glare, she did not stick up her nose at him, she had a small smile on her face.

He handed her a beer last. "Thanks."

Even the vibe Amara brought to the room was different, she had that carefree attitude everyone from California seemed to have. She even had the tan.

"Then Val and Fred climbed on top of the Golden Gate Bridge," Amaras face was flushed from laughing to much. "They were so drunk, my sober self had to pull them down."

"I was having none of that," Val added in. "It took Amara and not to mention three others to get me off that bridge."

It seemed that Amara and Val had in fact had go on those trips they had fantasized about on grad day. It was funny how things worked out.

"California seems wonderful." Joan said from behind him. She could see in her eyes that she was envious of the two. Joan told him constantly how much she wanted to see the ocean. She hadn't before.

"So, Amara. I think it's time that we talk about what everyone else has been dyin' to ask." Steven eyed Curly as he talked. "Who gave ya that shiny little ring?"

Curly had wanted to know, he wasn't going to deny that. But he hadn't been dying to know; mild curiosity.

"His names Will, he's studying for an English major like me. He's from Los Angeles. Not much to say."

"Does he surf?"

Sometimes Steven could be an idiot.

"Yes, actually."

English major, California native, that surfs. Curly could just picture him now- he had sand blond hair, ocean blue eyes and a tan. He also talked like a real douchebag; he would be all into that philosophical bullshit.

"Does he listen to the Beach Boys too much?"

Maggie hit Stevens chest but Curly was grinning.

He saw Amara's lips twitch. "Yes, Steven, he does. Not a little too much, I mean if I hear Surfin' USA at all this trip to Oklahoma I will tear all my hair out."

The topics changed quickly. The Beach Boys led to talking about Led Zeppelin's new single and going down to the lake and just a bunch of random crap that didn't really matter. It felt like high school.

As the sun set, Joan wanted to go home. She didn't like being out in the darkness anymore; Curly assumed that was just a side effect from her nasty trip.

"I'll see ya'll later. Think it's time we took off."

"Take off? It's only ten and you're heading home?" The way Amara said that made him want to stay. But Joan was tugging on his sleeve and he knew when he turned around her eyes would be watery. Nights when the trip got to her she was a mess. He wasn't sure how he handled it.

"I gotta bring Joan home."

He dropped Joan off and walked her to the door but she was kissing him like she wanted him to come inside. She lived with her brother and that had always caused him to never make it past the doorstep too often.

"Nobodies home." Joan said as if she could read his mind.

He began fumbling for the doorknob and Joan's touching never eased up. He wondered if she had just faked being upset to get him home. Most nights he wouldn't have a care in the world- he was getting laid by a beautiful woman. Tonight, he wanted to be at Stevens.

He wanted to hear about California and talk about music and stupid shit they all did. Lately all people cared about was themselves and their job and stuff Curly wasn't familiar with. In the past three months he wasn't sure he had a single conversation with Maggie and Steven other than what their wedding was going to look like. Curly couldn't relate to that stuff and couldn't even bring himself to care about what color fucking petunias would look best.

But Joan's hands started slipping dangerously low and he realized he never got this every day either. Stevens was soon forgotten.