Call it psychic ability or intuition, but whatever it was, I knew the shrink was coming for me. There was no hiding from him, so to head him off before the boys got a front row seat to the mess that was my life, I hurried down the stairs and out into the sunshine.
“Max isn’t up yet,” I said, even though I knew the doctor hadn’t come to see the band’s bass player.
He confirmed it when he gave me one of those concerned, pitying looks that I was starting to get really tired of. “Can we take a walk?” he said, though the way he said it, it didn’t sound like a question. That meant my father had sent him.
“I was heading to Starbucks.”
“Perfect,” he said and then nodded at Ven who fell into step behind us as I wondered if I’d ever really get used to having a security detail.
“If my dad sent you to get me to call him,” I said. “You can save your breath; I was just about to.”
“He did ask me to come chat with you,” he said. “But not to get you to call him. More of a touch base—see how you’re feeling. Offer to be here for you. He knows you’re struggling with the news, which is completely understandable, by the way.”
“I’m good,” I said, not meaning to sound so snippy, but there it was. Let him analyze that to death.
“He said you hung up on him last night.”
“No,” I said, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to turn and look at him. “I hung up on my mother. Though I might have hung up on him if he’d told me what he was going to do—I was pretty mad that he put her on the phone and didn’t even ask.”
Dr. Carmichael gestured down the street toward the coffee shop. We began to walk again. I wondered if he needed a decent coffee as desperately as I did. Probably. Especially as he was just getting used to tour life and his bunk wasn’t on the good bus (his choice—he didn’t want Max to feel like he was being psychoanalyzed twenty-four-seven).
“You had every right to be angry,” he said, making me nearly stop to look at him again.
I kept walking but asked, “Huh?”
“It’s your right not to have to talk to her. He blindsided you by putting her on the line without discussing it with you, which was unfair. Wait,” he said, and this time it was him who stopped walking. “Why do you seem surprised at what I’m saying?”
I shrugged. “I thought you’d take his side, that’s all.”
He nodded in understanding as we began walking again. “That’s not how this works, Vanessa. He asked me to make sure you’re okay, but that doesn’t mean I agree with everything he’s done. My job is to be the objective person here, no matter who pays my bill. Your dad knows and respects that. I’m here to help, not take sides.”
“I guess that makes sense,” I said.
“Also,” he added, looking over at me pointedly, right into my eyes. “A reminder that anything you tell me is confidential. I won’t ever share anything you tell me with your father or anyone else. What we talk about stays between us.”
“Thank you,” I said. Even though I guess I’d already known it, his reassurance still made me feel better. Several steps later, when the silence stretched between us, I said, “It’s just crazy, you know?”
He did. And he turned out to be a very good listener.
Over an hour later, we were still sitting in the coffee shop. I barely remembered ordering, but all that was left in the cup in front of me was the dregs of a latte and beside it, the discarded paper from a muffin.
Once I was talked out, and it was well past time to get back to the bus, I grabbed another latte to go. I debated about taking drinks back for everyone, but it would be too hard to manage—they could walk over on their own if they hadn’t already made something on the bus.
Dr. Carmichael and I left the Starbucks and as we stepped out onto the sidewalk, I actually felt better. Lighter. Not because I was ready to forgive my mother, but because I had sorted out how I felt about her coming back into our lives. I still wasn’t sure what I would do about it, but I was okay with not knowing. Dr. Carmichael said it was my right to take time to figure it all out.
I understood now why Max was doing so much better after even just a few intensive sessions with the doctor.
“Thanks,” I said as I walked down the street next to him, finally feeling prepared to talk with my dad.
“No problem,” he said. “I’m here for whatever you need, okay? Even if it’s just to be a sounding board for a rant.”
I nodded at him. “Yeah. I might need to take you up on that after I talk to my dad.”
I was still nervous about talking to him, but at least now, thanks to the good doctor, I had figured out what I wanted to say and (more or less) where I stood on the topic of my mother.
Which is to say I was still crazy mad at her, but at least I could now admit that I did want to hear her story. I wasn’t obligated to forgive her, but for my own peace of mind, it was best if I did listen to what she had to say. I mean, it couldn’t be any worse than what I already thought of her, could it?
Either way, without the pressure of feeling I had to forgive her, the thought of seeing her was still scary and anxiety-inducing, but it wasn’t quite as terrifying.
Setting Boundaries
Now that I’d decided I’d let my mother tell me her side of the story, Dr. Carmichael had said it was within my right to set boundaries for when and where I’d see her. It hadn’t occurred to me that I could, but it made me feel a little better about it, knowing I had some control over the process. Plus, I really appreciated that he was treating me like an adult who knew her own mind. He assured me that my father would respect that, too. I just had to act like a responsible adult (which meant no more dodging him) and tell him how I was willing to allow it to happen.
So when I finally spoke with Dad, that’s exactly what I did.
After returning from Starbucks, I’d gone inside the concert hall to check in. Once I saw that the guys were getting set up for a rehearsal and Billy and Kiki had the crew well in hand, I found a quiet room out of the way where I could use my phone and not be disturbed.
I took a few moments to prepare myself, doing some deep breathing that Dr. Carmichael had suggested, and then hit call on my dad’s number.
Of course, he picked up first ring.
After we got through some awkward small talk, he told me he wanted to fly out with my mother right away. Glad I was prepared, I told him that neither of us needed the distraction of her on days when the guys performed. I also explained that I’d spoken with Dr. Carmichael and with his help, realized I needed some time to sort out my feelings and be able to come at the situation calmly.
He seemed to understand (and probably realized he couldn’t exactly argue when I’d willingly spoken to the shrink) and agreed he would bring her out on our next day off.
Since I could recite our schedule in my sleep, without barely even thinking about it, I knew that meant I’d see them when we’d have a layover in El Paso on our way from Phoenix to Austin.
That gave me three days. Seventy-two hours to prepare to see my no-longer-dead mother. Forty-three hundred and twenty minutes to unravel my feelings, formulate all the questions I wanted answered, and shore up the courage I needed to ask them.
Deep breaths, Nessa.
I could tell by his slightly tense tone that waiting wasn’t Dad’s first choice. But he did seem resigned and said the time in New York would give him an opportunity to regroup with Linda who was still recovering from her fall. And since Billy was available and happy to stay until his own band returned to the road, Wiretap would be in good hands.
After that was all sorted, I filled him in on the debriefing I’d had with Billy, and then we went over the day’s itinerary. Again. Because holy control freaks.
Once I was done with Dad, both of us feeling better about things, I was finally able to call my best friend. After I explained why my phone had been off and I apologized for
it taking so long to get back to her, she filled me in on the reunion between Dad and my mother that she’d seen first-hand.
She told me, to my great relief, that it hadn’t been the love-fest that I’d feared. In fact, she said that from the second she and my father had walked into the Manhattan condo where Linda and my mother had been waiting for them, Dad had been very frosty. He eventually unclenched a bit, she said, but he stayed guarded. For as long as Sandy was with them, anyway, because unfortunately, she wasn’t able to see the whole ordeal unfold.
She’d wanted to stick around (obviously—she loved witnessing drama, especially if it wasn’t her own), but Linda had whisked her away for dinner and then kept her busy as they met with members of the Wiretap publicity team at the studio, even well into the evening. That kept her away from my parents as she and the team touched base on social media and how everything was going so far on tour.
“How did she look?” I asked, suddenly needing to know, especially if I wasn’t going to see her for a few days.
“She’s...well, I never knew her before, but I’ve obviously Googled her and saw the press photos from back then. But now...” Sandy paused and then exhaled before she said, “She looks...kinda old, to be honest. And sad.”
“Old?” I asked. Because she was still in her early forties. Actually—I quickly did the math—forty-three. She’d always been beautiful—strikingly so—and for the last five years, the image that was stuck in my head was the glamor shot that had been splashed all over the media when she’d disappeared. The one that had been blown up and put on an easel beside the empty casket at her funeral.
Oh God, that felt even more surreal now—that we’d had a funeral for her where we’d told a bunch of lies about what a wonderful wife and mother she’d been. What a farce.
“Yeah,” Sandy said. “Just...yeah, sad I guess is the best way to describe her.”
“Does she at least have a tan from all that time lost at sea?”
My best friend’s silence made me realize just how snarky I was being. She ignored my last comment and went on a few pointed beats later. “Anyway, she doesn’t look great. I think even Linda feels sorry for her.”
Which said a lot.
Despite not getting the full account I’d hoped for, it was better than what I would have gotten without Sandy there. I was grateful to have her as my on-the-ground reporter. I was also very relieved to hear that my father hadn’t caved. He wasn’t the doormat I’d accused him of being. Actually, I owed him an apology for that unfair comment—we were supposed to be on the same side, after all.
“So, how are you doing?” Sandy asked once she was done with her report. “It’s you, so you’re handling it, and you’ll deal. And I bet probably no one even knows your family is in turmoil, but how are you feeling?”
“It’s crazy,” I said. Because while I was starting to get used to the idea of seeing my mother, how else could I describe it but as crazy?
“That sounded like a very clear I don’t want to talk about it,” she said with a chuckle.
She was right. I was thankful I’d gotten so much off my chest with Dr. Carmichael, but that also meant I didn’t want to rehash it with Sandy.
“You’ll tell me if you need to, right?” she asked, the concern evident in her voice. “Like, you’re not going to jump in front of the tour bus or anything, are you?”
“Right,” I said. “Like I would do that to Gary. What a mess that would make; he gets upset about dead bugs on the front grill.”
Sandy was full-on laughing now. “You’re such a dork.”
“I know,” I said, also laughing. But while it felt good to laugh, I did feel I needed to address her serious question. “But I am okay, Sandy, I promise. I mean, I am now. Having time to get used to the idea of seeing her is a good thing. And Dr. Carmichael helped a lot. I had a good long talk with him earlier.”
“Max says he’s amazing,” she said.
“He is,” I agreed, happy for the opportunity to change the subject. “And Max is really coming around. You’re a big part of that, too.”
“Probably,” she said, and I could tell she was only half-joking. She knew she’d been the catalyst Max had needed to start to get better. “He’s a pretty awesome guy, once you get through his broodiness.”
I wasn’t about to argue. “He’s not as broody as before,” I pointed out and then changed the subject again. “So you’re stuck there for a few more days, huh?”
I thought about how she had been the one desperate to be on tour, and I’d been the one who wanted nothing more than to be far, far away from it. Oh irony, you’re so funny sometimes.
She sighed. “I wish there was a way I could get back sooner,” she said. “They left the condo a while ago, but when Tony gets back, I’m going to see if he’ll let me fly out and meet you in Santa Fe.”
Good luck with that, I thought, but didn’t say anything.
But wait. “Who left?” I asked. “Him and Linda?”
“No, him and your mother. Linda is still here.”
I tried not to read into the fact that my parents went out together. Or that they left Linda to be Sandy’s babysitter. Or maybe it was just easier if she stayed put and didn’t move around too much with her foot injury.
“If it makes you feel better,” Sandy said, her voice lowering to a mere whisper. “I don’t think they were going anywhere fun. I heard them arguing about something. I think he was making her go somewhere here in town.”
“In town...like, Manhattan?”
“Yeah.”
“On a Sunday? That’s weird.”
“Agreed,” Sandy said.
“Where could he have taken her?” I mused aloud. “Any chance Linda knows?”
My best friend snorted. “If she does, she’s not talking. Trust me when I say that I tried.”
Sandy could be nearly as persistent as me. If she said Linda wasn’t talking, nothing would get her to spill. I sighed. “This is all so messed up, Sandrine.”
“I know,” she said sympathetically. “Family is so...ugh, right?”
“That sums it up perfectly.” I glanced up at the clock on the wall and was slightly alarmed at how long I’d been in this little room away from the action. It was only a few hours until the concert, and I still had to make sure the guys got fed and had some rest before that.
I pushed up off the chair, feeling old and creaky and desperate to sprawl out on a real bed. Did Sandy have any idea how lucky she was right now? Probably not.
“Anyway, I guess I should go meet up with the guys. It’s nearly a packed house tonight.”
“Awesome.” Sandy’s voice brightened at the change of subject to her current favorite one. “How about Phoenix, though? Any more sales? I’ve been hitting social media pretty hard.”
I cringed, as a new kind of stress settling into my gut. “Unfortunately, it hasn’t been helping,” I said. “Just bad timing with it being on a Tuesday and after the long weekend. Maybe there’s some other factor that we don’t know about.”
We’d hoped that more tickets for the Phoenix show would sell as the word got out about Wiretap and their bromance with Zen Garden, but it didn’t seem to be working. I feared the concert was going to suffer low attendance. We’d been lucky so far in that pretty much right out of the gate, ticket sales had been strong and growing—maybe creating a false sense of security that the band was bigger than they were.
But for some reason, Phoenix seemed to be a dead zone. This would be the first concert on tour that wasn’t a sellout or near sellout, but there wasn’t much more we could do. I’d prepared the guys for a smaller crowd, but knowing that there were still a lot of unsold tickets was going to hurt their growing confidence.
“I’ll keep at it,” Sandy said. “Get creative somehow. Anyway, I’d better let you get back to it. Linda and I are going to the spa for manis and pedis.”
“Jealous!” I s
aid. And then because Linda had been around forever and had lived through my mother’s disappearance (and Dad’s subsequent meltdown), I asked, “But speaking of Linda, how is she handling all this?”
“Honestly?” Sandy said quietly. “Not great. That’s why I suggested the spa. She’s been pretty mama bear about it. But what can she do, really? Not her deal.”
“Dad said they’re not dating.”
“I don’t think they are,” Sandy said and then added, in an even lower whisper, “But between us, I think she wants them to be.”
I was about to ask her what had given her that idea when she blurted out, “Oops, here she comes. Gotta go. Check in later, ‘kay?”
And then before I could even say goodbye, she was gone.
Mothering Isn’t Always Smothering
It was later that afternoon, and we were inside the venue for rehearsal and sound check. Billy had taken a spot in the middle of the audience seating, watching the guys and getting acquainted. He had seen them perform back in Portland, but now that he was in Dad’s role, he had his critical manager hat on.
Kiki and I stood right in front of the stage and were watching for small details—hair, wardrobe, lighting—that sort of thing. Truthfully, after over two weeks at this, we had it down to a science. So, I was just sort of going through the motions as I stood there, zoned out, when suddenly Kiki asked if I was okay.
“What?” I said, shaking off the cobwebs as I turned to look at her.
She was smirking, her eyebrows high on her head as she said, very slowly, “I asked if you were okay, Vanessa.”
“Yes, of course,” I said, waving her off and returning my gaze to the stage. “I’m fine.”
“Nessa?”
Suddenly irritated, I took a deep breath before I looked at her again. “What is it?” I snapped.
Her eyebrows went up even higher at that, and she crossed her arms. “I asked you three times if you were okay. I don’t know where you went, but that it took several tries to get through to you pretty much tells me you aren’t okay.” I was about to protest when she added, more gently, “It’s not like you to check out.”
The Rosewoods Rock & Roll Box Set Page 69