He glanced at me anxiously, trying to read my thoughts. “I know,” he smiled weakly, “really heavy stuff for breakfast talk. I’m sorry to lay this all on you right before my dad comes. I meant to tell you a long time ago … I just never talk about it.”
“I feel really honored to know about your mom, Jackson. I’ll listen as long as you need.”
He flipped another page and drew in a steadying breath.
“Well, toward the end of my senior year, it was obvious it wouldn’t be much longer. They were throwing around the word ‘hospice,’ but she refused. Anyway, I had dated a little bit here and there, but it was hard for me to commit to anything, other than being with Mom and Dad and seeing my friends. Krissy was the only girl to meet my mom. We were never too serious, but we dated some that year. Mom absolutely insisted I take her to prom; she was beside herself to think I would miss it because of her illness. I promised her I would go, as long as she promised me she would come to my graduation two weeks later, even if by wheelchair. It was a deal. I went to prom with Krissy, and I actually had a fun night. I was able to forget, to dance, to be with my friends during a monumental time in our lives. I can understand why she wanted me to have that night, I really can.”
His breathing became more ragged now, and he looked up toward the heavens. “But, it was still the worst mistake of my life. She died that night, Lexie. She died all alone in her hospital bed. Dad was at home, pacing the floor, waiting for my 2:00 a.m. curfew. I made it home on the dot, and we just got to sleep when the doctor called. She died at 2:33 a.m., all alone.” Tears fell freely from his lashes now as he shook his head. “I can’t forgive myself. I should have been there; one of us was always there all night, except that one damn night, because of my prom.”
I bit my lip, trying to control my sobs. My hand left his and went around his neck instead as I pulled him closer and held his head on my shoulder. We were quiet for a long time, softly weeping, his shoulders shaking gently.
“Oh no, Jackson, please don’t think that. There is no way she would ever want you to feel this way.” I wasn’t sure of the right thing to say, or what I was allowed to say about someone’s dead mother, but I had to try.
I pulled up his chin to look at me. “I know I didn’t meet her, but if she’s anything like the person you described for the last half hour, then I do know this: she does not want you to take on this guilt. She insisted you go to prom. That is what gave her joy. She was able to pass away, because she was content. She saw you reach that rite of passage. If I had to bet, she was at peace, and she was ready. I’ve worked around hospitals for a while now, and it’s a common fact—people hold on longer than they want, because loved ones are around them constantly, and they feel like they have to. It was peaceful for her to let go while you and your dad weren’t there and she knew you were happy. Jackson, it’s not your fault, and honestly, I think it’s what she wanted.” I stopped abruptly and wondered if I said too much.
I bit my lip anxiously as his eyes looked down and then back up. “I’m sorry. I probably overstepped my bounds. I can be just a listener—”
He pursed his lips and then they turned upward. “No, you can’t. But, that’s okay. I knew you’d have insight for me. I saw the hospital psychologist and school counselor for a while; they both said things along those lines, but I wasn’t ready to hear it. Today, maybe I can see that point of view.”
I returned his half grin before it faltered, and he continued, “The other thing that gets me though … she broke her promise. She didn’t make it to graduation, and that was the only promise she ever broke in my life.” Another ragged breath from him, and I felt my tears welling again. “I don’t understand if she knew she wasn’t going to make it or not. I guess it doesn’t matter now. I just wish I’d been able to say a real good-bye instead of always talking about how she was going to beat it and tomorrow would be a better day. I guess that’s what ‘Angel Wings’ was … my goodbye to her. My tribute to her, my own form of therapy.”
I immediately loved the song even more, picturing his mom in my mind, and their story.
“It was the second release off my album, and I was still pretty green. I was lucky to have success with two songs and decent sales overall. I’d always written most of my stuff, or co-wrote some of it, and it was always a great cathartic, personal experience. I didn’t mind sharing it with listeners and fans, I hoped it touched them or helped them through a bad time. What I wasn’t prepared for was the media and interviews.”
He shook his head and stopped for a drink of water. “It was insane how personal these random thirty- and sixty-second interviews would get, much less any real sit-downs. They don’t take kindly to vague answers either. I literally had music bloggers and magazine reviewers tell me if I wrote about it, I better be prepared to tell them all about it. It was painful to talk about, for one, but it also felt so cheap, like I was profiting from her death. I tried to keep those questions off limits, but they ignore you. I had one magazine find old photos of my mom and print them with the interview. It looked like I gave them my personal photos to use! Another TV spot showed clips of where her funeral was and of the cemetery where she’s buried.” He was raking his hands through his hair now, and I saw the anger and frustration taking over. “I mean, can you imagine?”
I shook my head vehemently.
His hands shook again, so I tried to help him finish. “So, you decided whatever music you wrote next would be about absolutely nothing sacred to you? Things that were easy to talk about in interviews?”
He rubbed at his red-rimmed eyes and sighed. “You got it. Album number two started fresh. I threw out every scrap of what I’d been writing and made it all easy-going party songs. Nothing to dig into, nothing to hide, no emotional connection. It seemed like the only option at the time, unless I just quit the business altogether. Now that I’m telling you, in hindsight, it seems like I took the easy way out and kind of sold my soul.”
I put a hand on his cheek so he’d look me in the eyes. “Jackson, selling your soul would be the opposite. You didn’t let them have that piece of you; you hid it away, so no one would cross that line again. You protected yourself, your mom, your family … I wasn’t a fan of the music that came out of your decision, but I know you made it from the right place. I get it, and I’m sorry I always gave you such a hard time.”
He finally let out a chuckle, and I felt his tension begin to ease. “Please don’t be sorry. Your ‘hard time’ is what finally made me see it was time to venture back into the world of real music that means something to me.”
We sat in comfortable but deep silence for several minutes until I asked him what his mother’s name had been.
He looked up with a wistful smile. “Caroline. Caroline Ellis Morgan.”
I nodded as if it made perfect sense. “Caroline Ellis Morgan. It’s just as lovely as she is in those pictures. Ellis—your middle name carries on her legacy?”
“Yeah, her maiden name, which she changed to her middle when they got married. I always hated it growing up and complained about it, but now I’m so glad. Funny how death can change things like that.”
I gave him a pseudo-serious expression. “That sounds like a song title right there, Mr. Morgan. ‘Funny how Death Can Change Things Like That.’”
He burst out laughing and groaning at the same time. “You did not just say that. Oh, what will I do with you?”
I gave him my best innocent, wide eyes and shrugged. Then, I stood up to hug him, with a long moment of quiet as I breathed in his lovely smell with my face against his shirt. “Thank you for trusting me with your story. I feel very special to know about your mom, and I can tell you she’d be so proud. I just know in my heart.”
I heard him stifle another sob as he gripped me tightly. “Thank you for listening. I can’t tell you how good it felt to talk about her after all this time.”
A knock sounded, startling us and making us separate. His dad had arrived.
Chapter 25
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I ran to the bathroom to freshen up and attempt to look like I hadn’t been crying for the last hour, while Jackson put the albums away and answered the door.
His dad was the spitting image of Jack’s physique, tall with broad shoulders and strong. He had gained a few pounds around the middle, but still looked great for a man in his fifties. A neatly trimmed goatee graced his chin, and a ball cap covered his head, which cracked me up, because my dad had never worn a hat in his life. There were the eyes at last, the deep blue eyes that had obviously not been from Caroline. They were exactly like his dad’s. He peered at me warmly as I entered the living room.
“Dad, this is Dr. Lexie Travis. I call her Lex, but just ignore me and stick with Lexie. Lex, this is my dad, Carl Morgan.”
I held my hand out and he grabbed it, pulling me in for a hug instead.
“So glad to meet you. Jack says you’ve kept him in line and got him mostly healed now.”
I giggled at his friendly greeting and told him, “Oh, just doing my job.”
“Well, I hope you’re getting paid a damn fortune, because you deserve it for putting up with my son.” He chuckled, and I knew we’d hit it right off.
I caught him frowning at my fading bruises, but Jack had told him in advance, and I was glad he didn’t say anything. Jackson had a full day ahead, and though I knew it wasn’t imperative for me to tag along, he insisted. He had to meet briefly with the executives at his label and then with Amos and a representative from the CMA festival to iron out itinerary details. Carl and I sat in the lobby and chit chatted easily while I drank in the swank surroundings of the music industry and tried my best not to gawk.
Then we headed to a studio down the street where he was meeting Martina McBride to record their duet. Carl and I were both in awe when we met her and watched them work from start to finish on the song for the next two hours. I felt like a kid in a candy store as I watched the two amazing singers blend, harmonize, rework and adlib until a wonderful version of “I’m Gonna Love You Through It” was born. Of course, that was his chosen song—it was about a woman diagnosed with breast cancer and the support she received. It was an emotional song; both Carl and I shed a few tears while we listened, undoubtedly both thinking of Caroline.
Carl asked me as they wrapped up, “Did he tell you much about his momma?”
“He actually told me all about her recently.”
“I’m so glad. He needs to talk about her, needs to let people support him.”
I nodded in agreement, and he reached over to squeeze my hand as if to thank me. “I just realized I don’t know whose brother Charlie is, only that he’s Jackson’s uncle.”
Carl laughed. “Oh, I can’t claim him. He’s Caroline’s younger brother, but he’s like a real brother to me, too. He was there with us each step of the way.”
Jackson came out of the studio and announced we were on our way to meet Andy for a press junket at the Titan’s stadium, LP Field, where the festival would begin tomorrow. As we drove there, it finally hit me. “Wait! We’re supposed to dance on Saturday. I nearly forgot, with all that’s been going on. When do we rehearse? Are there dressing rooms here? Where are the girls?”
Jackson laughed at me. “You’ll be fine. Chill out. You can use your pass to check out the stadium while I go through the whirlwind in here. Kate’s with Andy, so you two can find the stage and our dressing rooms. It’s a madhouse of acts all day long, so they assigned everyone very specific rooms, and the entourages are limited. Passes are scarce. There are three different VIP lounge areas, and all of our allotted rooms are on the back of your pass.”
He handed me the envelope he’d received at his meeting, and I examined the pass closely. The back told me the room number for dressing, the room number for the lounge, and that I needed to be at side stage at 6:30 p.m. Saturday for the 7:00 p.m. show. I could be in the dressing room for two hours prior.
Joe and Johnny were waiting for us to arrive, and I was relieved to find Kate standing with Andy and Amos in the whirlwind of the press junket. We left Carl with the guys and immediately set off to find our way around, passing through three sets of security. I felt reassured by the level of organization. We found our dressing room and then memorized our way to the backstage entrance. There were two dozen crewmembers still working on the immense stage and lighting, with fifty more people running about with clipboards and headsets. Kate and I glanced at each other, awed. She had not been to a venue this large either and we were momentarily overwhelmed with the weight of it. We assessed the size and shape of the stage to plot our marks for the dance.
We agreed to meet the next day at the studio where Kate taught classes whenever she had downtime from touring. She texted the other girls and then stopped to look me over.
“Are you sure you’re still up for this?” Her eyes glistened when her gaze found the fading mark on my neck.
I grimaced at her pity, determined not to let Travis take any more moments from my life. “Hell, yeah. I beat the crap out of punching bags yesterday, so I’m sure I can do a low-key line dance.”
Andy met us in the corridor and took us to Jack’s table in the press line, where he was answering questions and posing for photos. After nine o’clock, a mass of fans entered, lining up at each table to get autographs. Kate and I finally lost our tunnel vision about the dance and realized we could mingle with the fans and meet the other celebrities. We broke into a synchronized grin and dashed down the hall to meet as many of our favorites as we could in the next hour.
As security ushered out the fans at the end of the event, we returned to the group. We regaled Carl with stories of whom we’d been able to meet, while Joe and Johnny led us out the back door to the cars.
Jackson scoffed. “Glad you’re impressed by some country singers ... sure didn’t give me that reaction when we met.”
I couldn’t resist leaning in to whisper to him, “Don’t worry, you have become my very favorite country star.”
His stride broke for a moment, and then he fell back into step, smiling and shaking his head. “I should damn well hope so,” he muttered.
I chatted with his dad on the drive back to the apartment and laughed at how unaffected he was by his son’s stardom.
“I don’t really know most of those celebrities in there. I love country music, I just don’t pay attention to who is who, unless it’s my boy. All those screaming fans? I don’t know how he does that. It’s enough to give you a headache.”
I nodded in agreement, wondering if he’d seen the groupies clamor for his son.
“And the phone numbers? What’s wrong with these poor girls today who would behave that way?” He shook his head. “I’m glad for all of his success in the music world … but, I hope it doesn’t cost him what’s even more important.”
“What’s that, Mr. Morgan?”
“True love, my dear. True, unconditional love, like I had with Caroline.” His eyes shone with moisture, and mine instantly did the same. “That’s what you live for. That’s what makes each day worth getting out of bed. I’d give up every dime I ever had for one more day, just one more day with my wife.”
I squeezed his hand, much like I had with Jackson that very morning. Maybe now was a good time to revisit my belief that unconditional love didn’t exist.
Jack had been on the phone with one of the publicists for the entire drive, and he looked at us curiously, as he pulled into the detached garage behind the apartment. The fancy sports car sat parked in the other space, collecting dust on its cover.
I hugged Carl and let the men say goodbye alone before he got into his sensible Honda, much like mine, and drove away. I waited in the foyer for Jack, and we climbed the stairs silently. It was nearly 10:30 at night now, and we still needed a therapy session.
After changing into our pajamas and settling on the couch, I started to work on his ankle.
“You gonna tell me what you were talking to Dad about?”
“You gonna tell me how many indecent
proposals you got tonight?”
“Fourteen.”
“Love.”
We were quiet for a minute, pondering the other’s answer, and then my lips turned into a grin. His did the same. In unison, we exclaimed, “Really?”
He chuckled and even blushed. “Yeah, it was a slow night. What can I say? I passed them all to Joe again; he gets a kick out it. It’s kind of weird to get immune to something like that.”
I pursed my lips. “You know, it didn’t bother me so much to hear you say that tonight. It used to make me physically sick. Maybe I’m getting immune to it as well.”
He looked at me curiously, so I changed the subject back to his dad. “Your dad made me think about some things, too,” I told him as I dug a Thera-band out of my bag and had him start his strengthening. “Lots of thinking up here tonight.” I tapped my head. “Probably need time to process all of this.”
He was extremely intrigued, and he leaned closer and scrutinized me with his piercing eyes. “Okay, fair enough.”
We changed topics to tomorrow’s schedule, as I filled him in on our dance rehearsal. He would drop me off on his way to a management meeting and then to the XM station studio for a guest spot and a CMT insider interview. I left him in the living room with the excuse that I needed to charge my computer in my room and document our session, but I really needed to collect my thoughts. He started to speak twice as I left the room, but then clammed up and waved good night.
I sat in the bed, feeling like the ground under me had shifted. So much had changed after he opened up to me. My feelings of insecurity about his fame were starting to fade away. A spark started in my soul that said unconditional love might exist after all.
Chapter 26
I got a pleasant surprise when I woke to the alarm, dressed in more borrowed boxers, and arrived at the home gym. Jackson was there, bench-pressing in a world of his own. He obviously didn’t expect me and was gloriously shirtless and glistening with sweat. I paused at the doorway and admired the view, trying to pry my eyes away and get my head in the right place.
Muse: ( Groupie Volume 2 of 2) Page 15