This late? I asked. Because while it wasn’t so late for us on east coast time, it was for Linda. And, I guess, my mother.
Lost track of time. Just wrapping up.
Did you see her? I asked and then held my breath.
Yes, she sent. And I want to talk to you. Can I call in a few?
Great. More waiting. I sent her a thumbs up, a gesture that was a lot more casual than I felt.
I wanted to talk to her before I called my dad back, but as I waited for her return call, another text came from him.
Nessa? Are you there?
It had been well over an hour since he’d sent the first message, so he had reason to be impatient, considering what was going on and that there was almost a whole continent between us. Was I ready to face what my life was going to become? Especially without any idea how it was going to go? But no. My life was going fubar, and I was helpless to do much about it. So I guess I was never going to be prepared, no matter what.
Nessa? he sent again, his desperation evident in the increasing frequency of his texts.
And, the fact was, he was my dad, and, if nothing else, I owed him a call.
For that, I needed some privacy. More than the accordion curtain would provide. I rolled out of my bunk and was about to go past the guys playing video games to duck outside when the bus began to move. The slow roll and backup beeps signaled our departure from Salt Lake.
Damn. Trapped aboard a tin can filled with ears. I did a one-eighty and was about to go into the washroom, only to be faced with the ‘occupied’ light.
Double damn.
I dropped onto the bench seat of the table at the back of the bus in what we used as our office. It wasn’t private at all but was as far away from the boys as I could get with at least a curtain between us. Sadly, it was my best option. For a half a second, I’d considered returning to my bunk, but something told me I needed to be upright for this conversation.
Trying to calm my racing heart (and not succeeding even a tiny bit), I hit call on his number.
“Nessa,” he answered, obviously relieved to hear from me
“Hi,” I squeaked and then had to clear my throat and try again.
“So?” I said and then, suddenly feeling thoroughly exhausted, I hunched forward across the table and put my head down, resting my forehead on the inside of my elbow.
He sighed into the phone. “We have a lot to talk about.”
I couldn’t help but get defensive at that. “Who do you mean by ‘we?’” I asked, my voice muffled by the wooden table, my warm breath smelling of marshmallow and chocolate.
“All of us,” he said. “Nessa, this is...” another sigh, “it’s...I don’t even know how to describe it. How I’m feeling. There’s no precedent for this kind of situation.”
“Are you getting back with her?” I blurted out.
Which was followed by a long silence. A long, terrifying, awkward silence. And then, “Nessa, I...”
I abruptly sat up. “You are, aren’t you?” I practically shrieked into the phone. I’d thrown the question out so he could deny it. So he would laugh and tell me I was being silly. Maybe admit that there really was something going on with Linda.
But no. He said none of that.
When would I learn not to ask questions I didn’t really want the answers to?
The tears came quickly then, hot as they rolled down my cheeks. I swallowed against my constricting throat and noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked up to see Will coming through the curtain and taking a seat across from me. Uninvited.
As I swiped at the tears with my thumb, I wanted to tell him to leave, but as I opened my mouth, the fight fizzled out of me. Plus, I’d already told him the meat of the story, so it wasn’t like he’d hear anything that was news. And maybe it was nice to have a friend there for emotional support. Still, just because he was across the table from me didn’t mean I had to look at him, even though I could feel his questioning eyes on me.
Dad finally answered my question. “No, Nessa, we’re not...we didn’t even talk about that. There are a lot of gaps to fill in. We’re working through it. I’m just trying to understand what happened.”
What happened didn’t feel like a very accurate term for it. “You mean what she did to you.”
A pause and then, “That’s part of it. But there’s more. Things...well, I’m not going to get into it over the phone . Not now, when we’re both feeling emotional. I will say that things we didn’t know at the time were at play. It’s a much bigger story than you and I knew. But I want you to know that while I’m listening to her, you are my number one priority in this, Nessa. Always. That hasn’t changed and never will.”
It meant a lot, but that he was there talking to her, listening to her story, hurt. Still, I guess it was the best I could hope for.
Until: “She wants to see you, Nessa.”
“Dad,” I said, knowing this had been coming but hating it nonetheless. “I...” I wiped away more tears before I forced out, “I can’t. I’m not ready.”
He paused and then I heard a lot of shuffling, like he was moving to a different room. “Nessa,” he began in a much quieter tone. “She has a lot to apologize for, but she wants to see you in person to do that. She’s your mother, she gave you life and loves you. You owe her that opportunity.”
So that was the exact wrong thing to say to me just then. “She lost the right to call herself my mother when she left me. Us,” I hissed into the phone. “I guess it’s your right to be a doormat and let her into your life, but that doesn’t mean I have to.”
“Nessa,” Will scolded in a shocked whisper from across the table, reminding me that he wasn’t just a prop sitting there, but was a real person, listening to my side of the conversation.
I cringed inwardly when the sentence I’d just uttered played back in my head, but whatever. Sure, it was cruel to call my father a doormat, but that didn’t make it any less true. Especially if he took her back.
He said nothing as he seemed to be processing what had come out of this new version of his daughter: Blurty McBitchypants. I felt guilty for the outburst but wasn’t about to backpedal. I sat there, looking down at the table, avoiding Will’s surely disapproving gaze while I waited for whatever my father was going to say next.
“Vanessa?” I heard through the phone. Though it wasn’t my father. There was no mistaking her voice, even after five years of only hearing it in my head.
My mother.
I opened my mouth to say something to her, but my lungs seemed to catch and my brain froze as it became completely and totally overwhelmed by a million different feelings. Anger, hurt, and disappointment bubbled up in me then, to be joined, surprisingly, by things like hope and relief. All that stuff and feelings I couldn’t even identify whirled around in me.
So overcome was I, that instead of stuttering something stupid at her that I would surely regret, I panicked, hung up, and turned the phone off.
I stared at the device for several long seconds, resisting the urge to smash it into a million pieces while waiting for Will to comment. I wanted to run away, but to where?
“Nessa?” he finally said. Pity, sorrow, concern—three more emotions I didn’t want to deal with—practically oozed out of him.
“Don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t... Please just don’t.” Without looking at him, I got up off the bench seat and reached to pull back the curtain so I could make my escape, as ineffective as it would be. I only hoped the aisle was clear of boys so I could get into my bunk unimpeded.
Except Will’s fingers coming around my wrist prevented a clean getaway. The curtain fell back into place, closing us in. “Nessa, wait,” he said quietly.
Like I had a choice with his hand on me, holding me there.
I shook my head. “Let me go,” I croaked. “Please.”
He did, his hand disappearing, the loss
of his warm touch about more than just temperature. For some reason, I didn’t move away.
But then his hand was back, grabbing mine as he tugged me toward him. Without a word, in the tiny space between the table and the curtain, he turned me into his chest as his arms came around me. Again, he was being exactly what—who—I needed.
I thought I was going to get away without a lecture, but after a long moment, while he held me as I cried (again), he whispered in my ear, “Don’t let it consume you.”
Instantly, I tried to wriggle away from him, but he held me tight. “Nessa. You need to understand what happened and figure out a way to make peace with it—not with her if she doesn’t deserve it—but figure out a way to move forward and be okay with the past. If you don’t, it will destroy you.”
I didn’t respond, but he had to know I heard him.
If the tables had been turned and it had been me comforting him, I would have told him the same thing. I had enough rational thought left to be able to recognize the wisdom in his words. But it was too raw, too close, too personal for me to even want to deal with, let alone be mature and get over.
Finally, after more sobbing that began to feel tedious and annoying, even to me, I pulled away from him and looked up into his eyes. The sheen of his own unshed tears along with the pity I saw there nearly undid me again.
To distract myself, I looked at his shoulder where my face had been only a moment before. “I slobbered all over you.”
“It’s okay,” he said gently.
I glanced up at him and snorted. “It’s your own stupid fault for not letting me go and bawl in my bunk. It’s not just tears, either, boy band, that’s totally snot.” I sniffled for good measure.
He tucked his chin and frowned down at the big wet spot on his t-shirt. He shrugged and then looked at me with a half-grin. The kind that he used on stage to make his fans scream and vow to have his babies. The one I wasn’t totally immune to, either.
“Worth it,” he said. “If you feel better.”
“Shut up,” I said and tried to push past him, exhausted and so done with emotions. Spock was totally onto something.
He grabbed me again, causing me to look up at him. He didn’t say anything with words, but his eyes were telling me all I needed to know: that he would be there for me no matter what. That he cared. That he understood.
I swallowed, and after a moment of our eyes locked on each other, I gave him a nod of thanks and then left the office, relieved that the bathroom was now unoccupied so I could slip right in.
I woke up in the middle of the night with a start. It took me a second to orient myself in the dark, but I quickly remembered that we were on the road to Denver. Then I realized what had woken me up: that Sandy had said she was going to call me and with all the drama that had gone on, I’d forgotten to turn my phone back on.
Whoops. I groped around my bunk for my phone, which had shifted from its regular spot, likely thanks to some potholes in the road. When I turned it back on, keeping it on silent, I saw that Sandy had called. Several times, in fact.
I opened up the text window to see her messages, but as I scrolled down to the most recent ones, it was clear she’d spoken to my dad and knew I’d had a meltdown and had turned off my phone. Her messages went from various forms of where are you? to increasingly concerned variations of are you okay?
I loved her for it but was still exhausted. I had a big day ahead and couldn’t afford to get dragged down into the cesspool of emotion again.
I’m all right, I sent.
I don’t believe you, I got back quickly enough to make me think she’d been waiting for my message.
How to respond to my best friend who knew me well enough to recognize that, even by text, I was lying?
I guess the truth works as well as anything: I’m fine enough to go back to sleep.
Just make sure you talk to Tony tomorrow, she sent. I promised I would and then turned the phone back off and rolled over toward the wall.
The Good Doctor
Never had I been so happy or motivated to get to work as that next morning. Because nothing clears your head of family drama better than a full day of tour ahead and the inevitable issues that arise and need your immediate attention.
While it was still early in the morning, much too early for most of the bus’s residents to be up, tour life meant that no matter how tired or wrung-out I was feeling, or how nice and warm my cozy bunk was, it was always in my best interests to get out of bed early. If I didn’t, I risked waiting forever for the bathroom behind a line of guys. Also, I appreciated some quiet time first thing to go over the day’s itinerary before people started moving around. Once they were all up, no matter how hard they tried to be respectful and quiet, concentrating on details and paperwork was nearly impossible.
We’d been scheduled to pick up Billy at the Denver airport before dawn and somehow I’d slept right through, so I needed to check in and make sure all was well with him. That the bus was parked didn’t tell me if all had gone as planned.
I rolled out of my bunk and used the bathroom, adding the insertion of several drops of Visine to each tired and raw eye to my morning routine. It didn’t help with the bags, but after the day before when I’d cried myself out, it did help with the burning and redness. A little.
I emerged and headed up to the front of the bus to find Billy sitting at the table, hunched over a laptop. Gary was seated across from him, a steaming mug of chamomile in front of him. That tableau told me everything I needed to know: that we’d managed to pick up Billy without issue and we’d gotten to our secured parking spot outside the evening’s venue. Gary’s relaxed shoulders meant there were no issues there, either.
As I mentally went through the Denver dossier, I remembered there was a Starbucks around the corner and about a block away. That set my mouth to watering, but before I could allow myself the luxury of a latte and a fresh muffin, I had some work to do.
“Good morning,” I said quietly to the men as I took the seat beside Gary. My new temporary boss looked up at me and gave me a tired smile. “Hey, Nessa.”
I narrowed my eyes as I regarded him. His wrinkled clothes and rumpled hair meant he hadn’t been to bed yet, even though I’d instructed Gary to tell him to take Dad’s bunk and that I’d fill him in on the concert details after he’d rested. “Please tell me you got some sleep and aren’t still up after your red-eye flight,” I said and then glanced at Gary who shrugged. Of course, he’d passed along my message, but couldn’t help it if the grown man didn’t take well to instructions.
“I slept on the plane,” Billy said with a yawn that even he found funny, based on the goofy smile he flashed me at the end of it.
I shook my head.
“I’ll get there,” he assured me. “I just wanted to get up to speed. At least on today’s gig.”
No wonder he and Dad used to work together: two peas and all. My father totally would have done the same.
“I’m familiar with the concert hall,” he said, “So I am mostly interested in tonight’s particulars: any set changes, tech issues, that sort of thing. Your dad filled me in on most of the high-level stuff.”
Whatever that meant. I wondered if Dad told him all the other stuff, like why he had to help out in the first place. If he did, Billy wasn’t letting on. And I wasn’t about to ask, especially as the zombies started to groan and emerge from the morgue.
“I’ll leave you two to it,” Gary said as he gestured for me to let him out of the booth.
“Let me grab the file for today,” I said as I slid off the bench and got up. I would have told Billy that I had everything under control and not to worry, that he was there more as a chaperone than anything else. But knowing he was like my father, the very thorough producer and manager, he’d still want to look over everything and make sure he was at least familiar with the day’s run sheet. Not to mention that telling him he was there as a gl
orified babysitter was wrong and very insulting—good thing Blurty hadn’t made an appearance before I could stop her from uttering stupid things.
Mug in hand, Gary followed me to the back office and took a seat, reaching for his laptop to set it up on the table. It was his routine to check in with his wife and catch up on world news while we all got ready for the day. Once we all left the bus, he’d climb into his bunk to get his much-deserved rest.
I grabbed the folder marked ‘Denver’ out of the hanging file box and opened it, about to return to the table when a soft thud told me one of the guys had emerged from his bunk. I looked up, and there was Will, looking at me questioningly.
I lifted my eyebrows back at him, but then just shook my head and took the few steps past him to join Billy. One good thing about being on a bus filled with people? If you didn’t want to have a private conversation with one of them, it was easy enough to play dumb and avoid him.
Sitting down, beside Billy this time, I centered the folder in front of us. We got to work, going over everything he needed to know. Finally, when he was leaning into my shoulder because he was literally falling asleep beside me, I sent him to bed and went through the file on my own one more time.
I needed to connect with Linda on some details about the venue. That meant I couldn’t avoid dealing with my dad. I needed to call Sandy back, too. But I wanted some real privacy first.
I closed the folder and returned it to the office before I grabbed my phone and keys and headed to the front of the bus, mentally mapping out the route to the Starbucks. But as I slid into my flip-flops that were in the box at the front of the bus, I saw Dr. Carmichael walking quickly toward the bus, looking determined.
He said a few words to Ven, who stood guard in front of the coach, making me wish it wasn’t soundproof. Though I could guess the gist of what they were saying to each other.
A second later, the men finished their conversation, giving each other a final nod before Dr. Carmichael approached the door.
The Rosewoods Rock & Roll Box Set Page 68