by Lauryn Dyan
“I’m sorry,” I offer. “It’s not that I want to distrust you. I love you, so much. Somehow, that’s still true.”
He turns his face to me and a small glimmer of hope returns to his eyes.
“I love you, too. Please, let’s try one more time. I’ll find a way to show you it’s not me.”
I study my clasped fingers in my lap as I let my emotions and logic battle it out.
“Okay,” I whisper, meeting his eyes. It’s enough to make his whole face brighten. He goes to run his fingers through the ends of my hair, but as I cringe away, he thinks better of it and settles for pulling apart one of my tense hands to hold. It trembles in his grasp.
“I’ve cut out drinking and drugs completely, so maybe that’s all it was,” I say, not sure which one of us I’m trying to convince. “At least, I hope so because I’m not sure I can take it if it’s something or someone else.” Water wells in my eyes. “I’m losing everything. I’m falling and falling and I don’t know where bottom is. What will be there when I land?” The tears are slipping down my cheeks but I don’t bother to wipe them away.
He holds my hand tighter, quietly saying the words that could be the sweetest or most sinister he’s ever spoken to me depending on his role in this.
“Wherever you fall, I will be the one there at the bottom with you.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“Kennedy? It’s time to go on stage.” A distorted voice directs me as a hand tugs me through the haze.
***
I’m caught in a chasm of awkwardness seated between my mom and dad in Craig’s office. It’s the first time we’ve all been together since the sneak attack where he appeared initially. I didn’t notice their palpable tension before since I was preoccupied with my own shellshock. I guess that’s a byproduct of reconnecting face-to-face with your ex-spouse. I worry the main reason my mom is so uncomfortable is because she never got over him. She’s dated, but no man has ever found his way into that spot in her heart where he used to live.
Is that to be my fate, too? Will Rickly forever haunt me, chasing away any new possibilities for love? Is it too much to hope that if he is a victim and not the villain in this story we can mend what was broken? My pessimistic side says no.
Craig clears his throat to break the uncomfortable silence.
“I gathered everyone today because we are going to release Kennedy very soon. Possibly in the next few days.”
Wow. I hadn’t realized it would happen so quickly. I assumed when Craig told me ‘soon,’ in our last session, that meant a couple weeks. I’d say I’m scared to leave the protective bubble of the asylum, but all the mysterious incidents here tell me I’m really no safer than out there. Perhaps even more vulnerable because there’s nowhere to run. No, my hesitation is because I haven’t had nearly enough time to strategize how I will confront Davey. How I will deal with my band and the aftermath of this mess, and how I’ll approach Rickly.
“First, we’ll do a final psychiatric evaluation,” Craig goes on. “Based on current progress, I’m inclined to say we’ll be recommending continued sessions with a psychiatrist, whether with me or another doctor, twice a week. At least for the first month. We’ll also want to make sure she has as much support from her family and friends as possible.”
My parents look to me before responding and I nod in agreement. I’m fine with those terms. They mirror my consent.
“Good,” he confirms, in his patented soothing shrink voice. “Now, who will Kennedy be going home with?”
My eyes widen. I didn’t know that was even up for debate. I am technically homeless, not having a place of my own yet, but my initial reaction is to say back to my old room at my mom’s. I hold my tongue. I want to see how my father responds. Is what we experienced here the main body of our story or a prologue to a longer tale? I don’t want this to be the end. Now that I know him, I want him in my life. I can’t forgive the past, it’s just not me, but I accept it. It’s time to put it behind us and move forward. We may never have a traditional father-daughter relationship, but perhaps we can be something else.
I’m relieved when Daryl responds without hesitation despite my mom and me gaping in his direction.
“I want to do what’s best and, maybe I’m not it, but Kennedy, you are more than welcome to come spend time with me. I’d like to get to know you more. My two bedroom apartment is nothing special but I can move my office to the living room and set that space up for you.” His eyes crinkle at the edges with excitement as he lays out his offer.
I turn to my mom for her opinion, and am greeted with the same tight-lipped expression she had when I told her I was going on tour. That one that conveys she knows her position is precarious. I’m an adult that can make her own choices, so she has to be careful what she says. She looks to the ceiling in what I take as a silent prayer for God to grant her the right words before responding.
“That’s a gracious offer, Daryl. I couldn’t be more pleased that you have mended fences and want to continue to be in Kennedy’s life. It’s more than I hoped for.”
“But?” I prompt, forcing her to address me. I need to know her true feelings.
“Sweetie, I always envisioned you returning to Arizona to be with your sister and me. I think home might be the best place to continue to recover. Somewhere familiar and comforting. What do you recommend, Craig?”
“Ultimately, it’s up to Kennedy. There are advantages to both options. What’s familiar often makes an easier transition back into a patient’s everyday life. On the other hand, sometimes something in that familiar place can trigger a backslide. We’ve never fully uncovered why Kennedy has her episodes, we only know here they’ve subsided. If something at home is related to what caused them, it could bring them back on. We just have to hope that her initial progress, with continued treatment and support, will ward that off wherever she chooses.”
All faces expectantly twist to me and I bite my lip. “Do I have to decide right now?” It’s like I’ve been thrust back in time ten years to when I was an unsure teen.
“No, not today,” Craig assures me. “But the day before we release you, you’ll need to tell us for the paperwork. How’s two days?”
I nod in agreement and remind myself this is not as big a deal as it seems. It’s just another load of shit in my already large pile of crap I’ve got to figure out before I rejoin the real world. My mind better not fail me now.
***
“One more song! One more song!” The chanting of the crowd fights to break through the fog. There’s a blur of lights behind me. My skin tingles from a strange mix of cold and warmth as my sweat meets the air conditioning backstage. I clutch a crinkly bottle and take a sip in an attempt to clear my head. One of my bandmates links his arm through mine to draw me back to the stage. Despite the brightness that greets me as I return, everything suddenly seems so dark.
***
The overcast sky dominates my thoughts rather than the to-do list I’d intended to write when I got to the rec room, notebook in hand. It’s not just that this weather makes me lazy; it’s also that it makes me uneasy. There’s this sense of foreboding as the billowing, gray clouds build I hope is merely an ingrained response from seeing one too many scary movies. Hollywood would have you believe institutions always get crazy as fuck when a storm hits.
Yet, aside from my celluloid induced worry, I can’t shake this feeling there’s another critical memory of my time on tour connected to a rainy night. Perhaps I will finally remember what happened that last show in New York when the storm clouds hung as menacingly as they do now, ready to strike.
***
“The show is over, Kennedy. It’s time to leave the spotlight.” A strong grip encircles my shoulders and pulls me away.
***
Darkness floods my eyes. I’m alone in my bunk, everything silent around me. I grope for my phone to check the time and discover a new crack fissuring across my screen. Lovely. The distorted numbers read 4:36 a.m. What the hell
? I quickly check my call log to find nothing new there, but that’s not surprising. Then I go to my text messages. There are two I don’t remember, the first from Rickly: “I understand why you aren’t ready for me to stay with you, I’m just happy you’re giving me another chance. I love you.”
The second is my response. A brief, somewhat butchered reply: “Luv 2.” That’d be weird even if I could remember it. I usually avoid cutesy short-hand. I must have been messed up to send that, but how?
This time I’m not going to lay petrified in my cubby stewing over the possibilities until morning. I quietly slink out of my bed down to Sonny’s bunk and climb in with her. She’s sleeping peacefully on her side facing the wall, and I hesitate before I tap her on the shoulder, worried I might scare the shit out of her. My own terror outweighs the risk. I need to ask her what happened now.
At my touch she mumbles and stirs, rolling over and nearly slapping me in the face as she wakes to my close proximity.
“Holy hell, Kennedy. What are you doing?”
I gently shush her, not wanting to wake the others. “Sorry, I know this is bizarre. I just couldn’t wait till morning to talk to you.”
The sleepiness in her eyes vanishes.
“What’s wrong?”
I gulp and try to keep my voice steady.
“I don’t remember any of our show tonight. Not even right before, actually. I need you to describe how I was acting. What you saw. I have to figure out what’s happening to me.”
She props herself up on her elbow and takes my hand.
“Kennedy, we’ve got to stop this.” I nod my head unable to speak my agreement without breaking. “I wish I could tell you something helpful. If I’d known you were out of it all night, I would have paid closer attention, but you seemed like you. Well, wasted you, but you all the same.”
“I seemed wasted?” I don’t sound surprised, merely resigned. It does fit with my grammatically, incorrect text.
“Yeah, at first you were giddy and energetic in a way you haven’t been the last few shows, but sloppy, like you are when you drink a lot.” She pauses and gently releases my hand. “I figured you were back to your old self because you and Rickly worked things out. We practically had to tear you off of him to get you on stage.”
“So he was there with me? Before we played?”
“Yeah...” she replies. “He had his arms around you backstage while RBYW performed and then you walked hand-in-hand to the stage for our set. You made out hardcore in front of everybody and Samantha had to give you a push so you didn’t miss your entrance.”
I shudder at the mention of Sam’s name. No doubt I’ll hear about that later, with all the sympathy of a Catholic school nun.
“How was my performance? Did I suck?” My stomach knots at the idea I blew it with everyone watching. With camera phones watching.
“Not really. Like I said, you mostly seemed normal.”
I tilt my head to the side.
“Really?” I ask, quizzically.
“Well, it may have been the most messed up you’ve ever been at a show. We had to remind you what we were playing next and guide you on and off the stage for the encore, but it was one of our more entertaining performances. The crowd loved it.”
Not ideal, but I’ll take it. At least blacked out me didn’t drop the ball completely. Too bad she can’t fucking remember anything.
“And after?” I prod.
She shrugs one shoulder.
“It seemed like you were coming down when the show ended. You were...deflated. There was no euphoric reunion with Rickly like I expected. Just a disappointed look on his face as you mumbled something to him and then stumbled out to the bus alone. Other than dropping your phone on your way in, you headed straight to bed and passed out. The rest of us stayed up playing drinking games for a few hours. Didn’t hear a peep out of you.”
Shit.
“What do you think happened?” she asks, delicately, her large, round eyes filled with concern.
“Rickly. I think Rickly happened.” She may not have given me irrefutable evidence of his guilt, but it’s the only explanation I have.
Chapter Thirty-Two
To-Dos:
Decide if I should stay with mom or dad when I’m released. Pro/con list?
Prepare apologies for each band member, minus Davey.
Talk to Samantha about setting up a meeting with the label to discuss getting back on track with writing the next album.
Plan my confrontation with Davey. Scope out a safe, public place to meet?
Find a way to tell Rickly I was wrong and plead for his forgiveness.
I’m lying on my bed staring at my daunting to-do list, a heavy weight on my chest as I reread the last two items. Do I have those names mixed up? My confidence in Rickly’s innocence grows stronger the more I consider Davey’s motives, but weaker as I approach my discharge and chance to see him face-to-face. I can’t afford to be wrong about this.
Even though the sun hasn’t set yet, it’s darker than usual in my room for this time of day due to the blackening sky. A roll of thunder peals in the distance, warning me the storm will hit soon. I can only hope that as the water drops from the sky, so will the blackout curtain drop in my mind, revealing the memory that waits in the rain. I’m putting a lot of faith in the weather to help wash away the last of my confusion. I pray it’s not misplaced.
Another louder crack of thunder hits as I stand to turn on my lights and I nearly jump. My neighbor is mumbling something that sounds like Frosted Flakes. This storm is probably going to get her all worked up.
I return to my bed to take a stab at my mom versus dad pro and con list. I’m completely torn on what to do. On one hand, there’s no one who can nurse you back to health like your mother, and I’ve missed her so much. My sister too. Factoring in my time on the road, I’ve been away from them a long time. Plus, my band should be there in Arizona. On the other hand, my relationship with my dad is so new I’m scared to walk away from it. True, going to Phoenix doesn’t mean saying goodbye but I feel like I should capitalize on the progress we’ve made so the next time we meet in person it’s not like starting over. Also, LA is where the label is. I sigh. I can tell there’s going to be a pro and con on each side to balance each other out. I’m an adult, this shouldn’t be so tough.
I settle into my pillows and draw a line down the center of the page as the first noticeable streak of lightning crosses the gray sky.
***
“New York is a big market for us. You have to do the radio interview,” Samantha fumes. She stalked onto the bus and cornered me outside the bathroom as soon as the band delivered the news I would not be joining them today at the station. I just can’t. I’ve tried to explain it to her six different ways, but she doesn’t understand that I’m losing it. Up until the second I walk on that stage tonight, I want total isolation to ensure I’m myself. I even asked Sonny and Davey to cover for me at soundcheck.
“Samantha, you’re not hearing me. Something is fucking wrong. I know how important New York is. I’m not a damn idiot. That’s why I need to stay here. So I don’t screw up the show tonight.”
She shakes her head.
“You’ve been performing just fine despite these issues you say you’ve been having. You cannot let boyfriend drama interfere with your career.”
“Boyfriend drama?” I’m yelling now, unable to apply any restraint. “This is beyond that! We’ve moved past drama into horror and suspense. Someone is making me lose my fucking mind. I am blacking out bigger and bigger chunks of time. Aren’t you worried about me or do you only care about selling tickets and records?”
She lets out an exasperated huff.
“Of course I worry, don’t be ridiculous. It’s because I care that I’m making you do this. It’s not for much longer. After the tour is over, I will make sure you get the best help there is. I will find you an amazing psychiatrist. You just can’t blow everything off right now. You have obli
gations. It’s bad enough you aren’t writing any new material. You have to do what I’m asking.”
“There are so many things wrong with what you said,” I spit. “I don’t need a psychiatrist. I need a detective. I need a manager who has my back. We asked you to be our manager because you have a strong head for business, but I didn’t realize that meant you have no heart.”
She stiffens and pulls her shoulder back like she’s tempted to slap me, but she fights it with control that makes her whole body contort. Perhaps I pushed her too far, but I have to make her understand.
She regains her composure, her voice now slow with forced patience.
“I care more than you know and I do comprehend the business side in ways you never will. Leave me out of your decision if you have to, but consider the rest of the band. They are the ones that will suffer if you don’t go to the interview. I’m not making up a lame excuse to get you out of this. I can only imagine what that magazine will print about you being absent from the interview in Atlanta plus, the label was pissed. This matters more because it’s live and you can’t be added in later.”
She has a point there, but I won’t admit she’s right. I shift my stance and square my shoulders as she presses on.
“You have a solid fan base here, but it’s new. We’re close to selling out this show. You need to go do the radio spot and seal the deal. Finish the U.S. leg of the tour strong so the label will let you write as you please. Then we can ask them to hire you a bodyguard.”
I can tell there’s no getting out of this. If only I wasn’t gripped with this overwhelming anxiety when I imagine going out there and being so exposed. In here alone I can protect myself. Or at least I think I can. Maybe the reality is I’m not safe anywhere.
I stare at Sam as she waits unmoving for my response. She’s trying to keep up her bitch façade but there’s a twinge of fear in her eyes. Fear she will have to drag me out of here kicking and screaming, probably.