Of course, they didn't expect anybody to be looking. That much was obvious, even to Molly. Whatever faint noise she might have made was covered by the drone of the air conditioner, the radio turned on low with Tammy Wynette warbling about no-good, cheatin'-hearted men and the foolish women who loved them anyway, and the disgusting sounds made by the couple grappling on the creaky chair behind the desk.
Suddenly Molly's stomach cramped and churned. Afraid she would be sick, she wheeled and ran through the office, down the corridor and out the door she had come in.
She'd almost made it to her bike before she had to stop and brace herself against the baking brick. She spit out what remained of the mint and upchucked the lemonade she'd sipped after school at Grover's drugstore. With shaking hands she pulled the hem of her T-shirt free of her shorts and wiped
her streaming eyes.
Only then did she remember the report card still clutched in her hand. She slipped the stiff white paper from its envelope and opened it to look at the grades she'd earned with such pride. They meant nothing to her now. Her fingers trembling, she ripped the paper into tiny shreds and threw them to the breeze that scattered them across the asphalt parking lot. Then she sagged against the brick wall of the store and crumpled to a heap at its base. Knees drawn up, she wrapped her arms around them and cried until there were no tears left.
She never told a living soul what she had seen. Not Momma, not Lucy, not Charlie. Especially not Charlie.
When her daddy asked her later that evening, with mint on his breath, what had happened to her report card, she shrugged and looked vague. If he could lie without saying a word, so could she. Days later they got a copy of the report from the school and her daddy was pleased, as she knew he would be. But when he suggested an ice-cream sundae to celebrate, she recalled his hands where they'd had no business being and she said, "No, thank you." If he ever wondered about her withdrawal over the next weeks, he never betrayed it by word or deed. And, gradually, she adjusted to the sham that passed for her family life.
But her innocence had died that day. She'd learned her lesson well. Never trust an easy smile and a glib promise. And when she grew from girl to woman and found it was her destiny, or her misfortune, or maybe only the capricious whim of fate that she loved a man who was so much like her father, she remembered that lesson. She remembered that a man you adored, even one who claimed to love you, could cheat and scheme and lie right through his smiling teeth.
Chapter 7
Charlie came awake when Harlan rapped lightly and entered his bedroom at the back of the bus. He slept better on the bus than just about anywhere else. The steady rumble of the engine was mind-numbing enough to knock him out.
He knuckled his eyes, rolled to the side of the bed and stood, hauling a pair of jeans up over his briefs. Still only half awake, he shambled to the sink, splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth. Scratching his fingers over his scalp and ruffling up his sleep-matted hair, he turned to Harlan.
"What time is it?"
"A little after seven." Harlan sank into the barrel chair next to the bed and tapped the rolled paper in his hand against his knee. "I thought you'd be awake."
Charlie blinked a few times and rubbed his chest. "What day is it?"
"Friday," the other man answered with a short laugh.
Charlie stretched to adjust the window blind and squinted out at the telephone poles whizzing by. "Then this must be Tulsa." They'd been in Memphis last night. He'd actually slept in his own bed at his place just outside of Nashville the night before that. Big bed. He'd wished Molly had been in it with him.
"We should be pulling into town in about half an hour." Harlan paused for a moment and fingered the paper. "We've got a problem with tonight's show."
Charlie gave his friend a long glance over his shoulder. "So what's new?" This road trip was turning into the usual chaos, compounded by the fact that they were squeezing in dates to make up for the ones they had missed. He'd been back less than two weeks and already it felt like a month. He'd had a few free hours in Nashville to get a little shopping in and that had been the extent of his time off.
At least Tobie had sounded cheerful when they'd talked the last few times, and Molly had been pleasant. More than pleasant. There had been no repeat of the comments she'd made when he'd called that first night. He sensed a genuine longing in her to have things right between them. An answer to his own hunger.
"This isn't just a couple blown amps." He stopped in the process of smearing shaving cream on his jaw to glance again at Harlan. "What's the problem?" He took a swipe over his cheek with the blade.
Harlan watched him in dismay. "I'll never understand how you can shave with a razor on a moving bus. I'd be afraid I'd slit my throat." He shook his head and continued. "They had a fire at the arena last night. Just a small one. Nobody hurt. But the fire marshal put in an appearance. Padlocked the doors until they bring the wiring up to code. We're locked out."
Charlie thought for a minute, rinsing his blade under the tap. "What else is available?"
"It's a Friday night, Kick. Everything big enough is already booked." Charlie turned full around, leaning his hip against the sink, to look at Harlan. "We're gonna have to cancel," his friend informed him.
He felt his heartbeat kick up into overdrive. He tried for all he was worth to keep the elation out of his voice. "St. Louis tomorrow night, right?" Harlan nodded.
"What's the latest I can show up?" "Sound check's at six."
Charlie let out a low whistle. "I'll do the radio station interviews here as long as they're early. Tell Nada to get on the phone and see about getting me a flight to Pittsburgh. Private plane is fine. I don't give a damn about the cost." He toweled the rest of the foam from his face. "I'm goin' home."
Harlan rose, his eyes glinting and his mustache curving upward over his smile. "I'll see to it."
Charlie waited for the door to close behind the other man before he fisted his hand and punched the air. Hot damn! He had a day and a night off.
"He's lost all his hair." "What?"
"He's lost all his hair, Charlie. The doctor warned us this would happen from the medication, remember?"
He remembered, all right. It was one of those bits of information he'd shoved aside under the heading "things to worry about later." Well, it was later. He'd let Molly know what time to expect him and she'd intercepted him before he reached Tobie's room. Now he knew why.
"When?" he asked, slowing his stride to match hers as they made their way down the hallway. Had this happened days ago and she was keeping it from him? He didn't want that. He wanted to know what was going on with his son, the good and the bad.
"This morning. Most of it was spread over his pillow when I walked in." She lifted her palms in a helpless gesture. "The rest just came out in clumps when I rubbed my hand on his head." She shrugged. "All at once. Just like that."
"How's he doing with this?" They stopped outside Tobie's room.
"He's a little down." Charlie detected the quaver in her voice. Her lips tightened and her eyes filled but, with an effort, she regained her composure. "He's happy you're here, Charlie." She gripped his arm and looked directly into his eyes. "And so am I." Raising her face to him, she pressed her mouth to his.
Encumbered as he was with a big white box under one arm and his bag held in the other, he couldn't embrace her. But he wouldn't ignore her invitation. Instead he deepened the kiss, leaning into her until her head rested against the corridor wall behind her. He slipped his tongue along the seam of her lips, coaxing her to open to him. When she did, he dipped into her, sipping and stroking. He felt her hands creep up his shirtfront to frame his face gently and hold him to her as, oblivious to the activity in the hallway around them, she kissed him back. His tongue took one last, long, slow sweep of her mouth and he lifted his head.
She'd pinked up nicely, and he was pleased to feel her breath coming in choppy pants. Her lips were puffy, wet, and still parted. That had been n
o wifely peck of greeting. She'd forgotten herself in that kiss.
Of course, so had he. Bringing them both back to the present, he said, "Let's go see Tobie."
Moments later he appreciated Molly's warning. They'd been told forthrightly that Tobie would lose his hair. They'd even been prepared for the lag time between the administration of the medication and the loss. But he wouldn't have wanted to walk into this cold.
His boy looked like a little old man. The few remaining tufts of his hair stood like chicken down on his head. Even his eyebrows were patchy and sparse. Charlie told himself this didn't make Tobie any sicker, though it surely made him appear that way.
He used the few minutes he spent washing his hands to collect himself before he went to greet his son. Then he hugged him hard, trying to determine if it was only wishful thinking that made him believe the child in his arms was a little more sturdy, a pound or two heavier.
If Tobie was upset by his hair falling out, he did a good job of covering it. He greeted his father eagerly and seemed especially anxious to find out what was in the white box.
"I believe I promised you a present, didn't I?" Charlie set the box, which resembled a bakery-cake box, only bigger, on the bed and dug in his jeans for his pocketknife. He cut the strings that held it closed and nodded to Tobie to lift the lid.
The round-eyed expression on his son's face as he regarded his gift was all the reward Charlie could ask for. Carefully, he lifted the black Stetson from the box and handed it to Tobie.
"It's been steamed to curve just like mine, and you can leave the feather in the band or take it out, whichever you like."
Tobie shot a quick glance at the featherless hat his father had set on the bedside table and took the feather out of his. Charlie grinned at Molly over their son's head, and she smiled back, but there was a concern in her eyes he couldn't comprehend. Only a moment later, he understood.
Tobie placed the hat on his head and it settled low, nearly covering his eyes and flopping his ears down like the handles on a jug. The kid looked like one of those seven dwarfs, Charlie thought. Bashful maybe, or Dopey. Aw, God. Tobie'd had a thick head of hair when he'd measured him, and he hadn't taken this into consideration.
Molly recovered first. She plucked the hat from his head. "You'll need to wear a scarf with this, honey, till your hair grows back. You know, like a pirate."
"I've got just the thing," Charlie said, following Molly's lead. He rummaged through his duffel bag, coming up with one of the big patterned bandannas he sometimes tossed to fans during a show. Quickly he tied it on Tobie's head, knotting it over one ear. When Tobie adjusted the hat this time, it was a good fit.
"Real cowboys wear it like that sometimes," Charlie offered, "to keep their sweat from staining the hat too much. Course, I wouldn't know firsthand," he continued. "I haven't been on a horse since I was a kid taking pony rides at the fairgrounds."
They seemed to have kidded Tobie through the difficult situation and Charlie looked at Molly with new admiration. How many situations like this had she coped with? She dealt with Tobie's fatigue, his disappointments, his boredom, his crankiness hour by hour, day by day, week by week, with no relief, no letup. Meanwhile she maintained her own cheerfulness and concealed her fear. For the short while he'd be here, he could give her some support.
He noted the empty dishes on the over-bed table that indicated Tobie had finished lunch. He'd bet Molly hadn't. "Why don't you go get something to eat?" he suggested. "Tobie and I will have some guy-talk."
Molly looked a little uncertain about the idea, but tempted all the same. "What about you?"
"I ate on the plane." He removed the tray from the table to a pass-through near the door. Returning to the bedside, he hooked the toe of his boot around the wooden leg of a chair, dragging the chair up close and taking a seat. Tobie was already digging in the over-bed table for the deck of cards and pile of pennies he'd won the last time, while Molly still hesitated.
"Go on," Charlie urged. "Take your time. We'll be fine." He was emptying his pockets of his own stake when Molly headed out the door. He noted that in his absence Tobie had perfected the shuffle he'd taught him. "Dealer calls the game. Name your poison."
"Five Card Draw," Tobie answered, leveling a glance at him from under the hat brim. Kid was a natural. "Deuces, fives, tens, and one-eyed jacks are wild."
Charlie huffed. "You've been playing with your mother again, I can tell." He shook his head. "I hate to burst your bubble, but when you play with the fellas, they're never gonna let you call every other card wild, and there is no such hand as seven aces."
"She said you taught her how to play," Tobie commented, putting four cards aside and drawing four more from the deck.
Charlie hoped that was all she said. He discarded one loser and Tobie gave him a replacement. "Sometimes you have to have special rules for females. Your momma's not much of a poker player."
Tobie did a dead-on imitation of Molly rolling her eyes. Maybe there was more of her in the boy than he'd first suspected, Charlie thought.
"She's awful, Dad," he said with a laugh. He made a big show of placing his bet, and Charlie saw it.
Tobie laid out his hand with a flourish. "Full house, aces on top."
Charlie glanced at the cards on the table and saw junk, ace high, but he looked at his son's laughing face, folded his own two pair, natural, and conceded.
They continued their good-natured play for a while. Charlie noted his son appeared to have a flair for the game, even disregarding the bent rules. But after a time, Tobie began to tire.
"Would you like to stop for a while? Take a nap?" Charlie suggested.
"Okay, I guess." Tobie seemed reluctant, but resigned. "Will you still be here when I wake up?"
Charlie looked into his son's uncertain eyes. "I'll be here. I'm not gonna disappear on you. And I'm not just talking about right now." He pushed the table out of the way, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Tobie, performing is what I do for a living. Some kids' daddies drive trucks and some fix leaky toilets. I write songs, and I'm lucky enough that people pay me to sing 'em. So sometimes I have to be gone."
Tobie was quiet but he didn't take his eyes from his father's face. Charlie pushed on.
"I'll be here tonight and tomorrow morning. Then I have to go back. It doesn't matter where I am, I'm still your daddy. I think about you all the time. If you need me, I'll be here."
Tobie nodded, seemingly reassured. He removed his Stetson and lay back against the pillow, settling the hat on his chest. Charlie reached to take it and put it aside, but Tobie stopped him. "Leave it where I can touch it, Dad."
Charlie leaned back in his chair, propped his elbows on its arms and folded his hands on his abdomen, watching his son's eyes grow heavier. Still fighting sleep, Tobie murmured, "I love you, Dad, and not just because you're...you know... famous."
Charlie's breath caught. How easily the words seemed to slip over his boy's tongue. At what point did they become so difficult to say? And why? He could think of a dozen, an easy dozen, people he loved deeply and he couldn't recall ever saying those words as an adult. Not even to Molly. And God knew how much and how long he'd loved her.
He licked his lips. "Well, let me tell you something," he began. Already he could feel his pulse quicken and his palms grow damp. "I love you, too." There, that wasn't so hard. "And not just because you're...you know...bald."
Tobie seemed to reflect on that for some moments. Then a scowl knitted what was left of his eyebrows below the red bandanna. "What's that got to do with anything?" he groused.
Charlie gave a low chuckle. "Exactly," he said.
He watched as his son lost his battle to stay awake. Tobie drifted off with his fingers still curled around the curved brim of his hat. Charlie leaned forward, stretched his arm across the bed rail and settled his hand there, too.
They ate dinner at the hospital cafeteria before heading home that night. Charlie didn't want to have to deal with public
recognition in a restaurant and Molly, not anticipating his visit, had nothing special to fix at home.
Not that she needed to worry. All his money and high living hadn't affected his tastes much. He seemed perfectly happy to scarf down the Swiss steak smothered in gravy that the hospital dished up.
"He's going to need more room, Molly."
Charlie's voice broke the silence in the van as he steered it down the city streets toward their apartment. She had known this was coming, that it was only a matter of time before he pointed out that the flat was too small to be suitable for Tobie when he came home to recuperate. The fact that she agreed with him didn't alter the fact that she found herself forced to accept more of his generosity. "I know," she said.
He slid a glance her way. Her pride was nipping at her, but she was doing her best to be gracious. He'd try to make this easy for her. "He's not gonna be able to go to school, or a public pool, a ball game, the zoo, for the next year. He's gonna need some space to roam around, keep from going stir crazy."
She turned her head slightly to look at him and softened somewhat as she read in his face his effort to be accommodating. "It sounds like you've had some feelers out."
He nodded his assent and stole another quick glance. "I've been in touch with a local agent. I figured you're too busy with Tobie to waste a lot of time hunting around. Anyway, she found a place outside of town, part of an estate the heirs are squabbling over. The place is up for rent until everything is settled." He stopped at a traffic light and rested a hand on the seat behind her head while they waited. "It's on a good piece of land, with a little woods and a pond where he could fish, have a playmate over now and then. The house itself is not real fancy, I've been told, but I think you'd like it"
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