by S. L. Scott
She takes the book from my hands and sits on the coffee table in front of me. “Stop moping. If you’re not working, you’re moping. Your baby is gonna be born with that disease.”
“What disease?”
“Resting bitch face. No one deserves to have that burden put on them in the womb.”
I burst out laughing. “That is hysterical. Did you actually just talk to me about resting bitch face?”
“I did. Apparently all the hottest celebrities have it these days. Don’t be one of them and don’t put that on your baby.”
Still laughing that I’m having this conversation, I say, “I did not see this coming. I think you’ve got Hollywood all figured out.”
She touches my arm and smiles. “Maybe you should come home for a few days. Get a new perspective on things.”
“This is my home, Mom.”
“It’s too big for you and a baby.”
“I know, but it won’t be just us.”
Her eyes turn downward. I’ve brought up the unspeakable—Dalton. “Have you talked to him? The tour ended weeks ago.”
Squeezing my eyes shut to avoid the tempting tears, I adjust the blanket over my body, wanting to hide from this conversation.
“Holli, he’s not here, so where is he?”
Aggression shoots through, stirred from the reality that I might have to live my life without him. “I don’t know, but I know we’re not over. My heart knows, Mom.”
“What if your heart is wrong?”
“He just needs time, like after Cory died. That’s all it is. I know it.” I move to my back, not wanting to face her anymore. “If we choose to go our separate ways, then I’ll deal with it then.”
“It’s been over three months, Holli. You need to start thinking of a future without him.”
Sitting up, I shout. “No! Not yet.” I toss the blanket off of me and get to my feet.
“Then when? When you’re giving birth?”
“I’m tired. I’m going upstairs to take a nap.”
“It’s called depression, Sweetie.”
“It’s called pregnancy.”
She turns away and lets me go in peace, as peaceful as she can, considering how sad I am. I shut my bedroom door and sit on the loveseat by the window. Staring out with my phone in hand, I do what I do at least five or ten times a day. I think about calling him. Sometimes I wonder if I’m being stubborn or if the pain is ruling my thoughts. Other times, I feel strong in the sense that he has to fix himself before he can fix us. I just don’t know how to feel today, so I set the phone down like I do every other time and silently call to him, my heart’s song a version that speaks through aches, longing for its soul mate.
I rest my chin on the cushion back and stare out the window. All the doubts about my own part in this come back as a reflection in the glass. Sitting up, I take a deep breath and pick up the phone again. Like that one other time, I press the call button, but this time I hold it to my ear and wait. My heart thunders loudly in my chest and I slide my hand over my tummy. My breath stops cold when it doesn’t ring or go to voicemail. There’s no sound at all but the sound of silence. I bring the phone back down and look at the screen making sure I dialed the right number.
Dalton.
Yep. It’s there, right there on the screen. I immediately dial again. The same thing happens. Alarmed, I call Rochelle, but I don’t give her a chance to speak when she answers, “What happened to Dalton’s phone?” She sighs into the phone and my body tenses, bracing myself. “Please tell me.”
“I’ll tell you, but I just want you to know I didn’t want to worry you anymore than you have been.”
“I appreciate that, I do, but he’s my husband.” The phone goes quiet for too long, so I ask, “Rochelle?”
“I’m still here.” She pauses again and the silence is deafening, the blood rushing in my ears louder than my breath. “We lost contact with him a week ago, Holli.”
The phone wobbles against my ear and I tighten my hold on it. “What do you mean you lost contact?”
“Tommy, Dex, everyone. We haven’t heard from him. His phone isn’t working and we have no idea where he is.”
“Rochelle,” I say, the name having a painful pitch to it. I squeeze the arm of the couch, the words staggering in an exhale. “Is he alive? Did you search for him?”
“We called his parents and everyone we knew who might have a clue, but no one knows.”
“Did you call the police?”
“He’s alive, Holli. He just doesn’t want to be found.”
Her words sink in, but make no sense to me. “I don’t understand,” I say, confused. “How do you know?”
“I got a letter from him.”
Hesitant to ask, but needing to know, I plead, “Please tell me what it said.”
“He’s taking time to figure out what he wants and what’s right. He loves you, but he doesn’t know how to fix this.”
Anger, frustration, and hurt burrow in and I snap, “He fixes it by coming home and talking to me.”
“You know it’s not that easy.”
“I know it’s not that hard either. I’m carrying his baby, going through this by myself and for what, his ego? He needs to get over himself and come deal with life like the rest of us.”
“Hol—”
I hang up I’m so mad. I throw my phone on the bed and go downstairs. “I’m going out,” I snap in my mother’s direction as I storm toward the front door. I grab my purse and go to my car. Inside the car, the stale air surrounds me, deafening my crazed mind. I pull away from the house and drive. I have no idea where I’m going, but if he can lose himself for awhile, I can too.
“What happens when living your dream isn’t enough?” ~ Holliday Hughes
I walk out of the coffeehouse and tighten my coat around me. Seattle is too damn cold. It seemed like a good idea to return here, to maybe start over here… to hopefully find the point where my life veered off in the wrong direction. I wanted to retrace my steps and follow the right path back home, but I lost my way. The only breadcrumbs I’ve found are the ones left behind from my wife walking out on me.
The one bonus of this city is that I’ve been able to blend in here. I grew a beard, put on a flannel shirt and a beanie, and walk around unnoticed. It’s been good, grounding in ways, despairing in others.
I sit at the end of the bed on top of the scratchy brown cover that if blue-lighted would make me want to get STD tested. Staring at the yellowing wallpaper behind the TV rabbit ears, I know it’s time to leave. I shouldn’t be here and the music scene doesn’t fit my mood any longer. I was angrier when I arrived. Now, I’m not so sure what I am anymore.
My laptop is open on the bed next to me and I pull up a car rental website.
Texas, here I come.
Driving cross-country seemed like a good idea at the time. Fourteen hours of being stuck in the car with shitty radio stations and not enough good music on my phone to keep me interested, I turn off the highway and park in front of a diner. I hoped getting in touch with what was happening on the radio these days would take my mind off the rest of my life, but bad music makes me miss my life more than I already do.
A bell dings when I walk inside. Finding a seat in a booth by the window, I slide in. The place isn’t crowded, which I like. Avoiding people has moved up my priority list recently. It’s the kind of joint where the waitress pours the coffee in your cup without asking. I’m given a menu and Flo waits while I read over it. Since there are only a handful of customers, she has nothing better to do anyway. “Do you have an egg white omelet?” I ask.
“This is Wyoming, not California.” She shoves the pen behind her ear, preparing to be standing here awhile.
“I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries.”
“Good choice.”
When she walks away, I pull out the phone and set it in front of me. It’s a cheap model that I’ve never had to use. It’s not ever rung. Not once. Nobody has the number. The decision to untie my
self from my old life wasn’t easy. Everyone else made the choice for me:
The media
Tommy
Rochelle
Dex
My parents
The lawyers
Rory
The record label
My other phone is in the front pocket of my bag in the car. I left the charging cable, lost it along the way to the hell I was headed to. I eye the cable behind the counter and for a brief moment debate whether I should charge it. I wonder what I’ll find. I wonder if I’ve been missed. I wonder if anyone cared to notice my absence when I stopped answering.
Holliday called a few times, but she stopped trying. She always was a smart woman… everybody wanted something from me and I didn’t want anything but her.
My mind has been fucked up over Cory’s death, the pressures of the band without him, and not wanting to tour when the label said we had to. I’ve been doing what everyone else wanted me to do. The wheels are in motion, leading me right to the hell where I sit now, alone.
Car after car after truck and 18-wheeler cruises along the highway. I stare out the dirt covered window, wondering when I decided my pride was more important than my family. I’ve had too much time to think about everything that’s happened, too much time to think about Holliday. I might have hated her for screwing me over back then. But time, like my anger has transformed into something else. What I used to not have enough of, I now have too much on my hands. My hand moves closer to the phone, but I don’t touch it. Not yet.
Time has given me perspective. Maybe I grew up a little too. Holliday was never the problem. She’s always been the solution. It just pisses me off that perspective has come at the cost of my wife, and expense of my baby. I screwed up. She hates me. She’ll never take me back. Not after what I’ve done, not after losing faith in her, not after being gone while she carries our child.
I’ve let her down like I let my parents down. Maybe it was always inevitable, but why? Why does it have to be this way? Why can’t I swallow down my demons and be the man she needs me to be? How did I even get here? How did I end up choosing to drive away from her instead of toward her?
Rash decisions with unseen consequences.
Dropping my head into my hands, I can see her when I close my eyes. Her smile. Her eyes, the damn sexy tattoo just above her hip. The way she tilts her head back when she laughs. The curve of her neck. The indention at the base of her throat that I like to lick. I can feel her in my bones. I mistakenly thought she was the blood that flowed through my veins. She’s not. She’s the marrow that gives me strength. She’s so much a part of me that I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been for letting it get this far. The first step is always the hardest, but it’s time I take it. Looking up, I pick up the phone and call her.
“Hello?” The voice is desperate, but it’s not the one I expect.
“Hello?” I reply, not recognizing her.
“Hello, who is this?”
“Johnny. Who’s this?”
“Jack? Is that you?”
“Yes.”
Her words are quick, desperation heard. “This is Marilyn, Holli’s mom.”
“Oh hi, sorry I didn’t recognize you. Is Holliday there?”
“No. I was actually hoping this was her calling.”
I sit upright. “Why would she be calling her own phone?”
Marilyn goes quiet, but finally says, “She left hours ago, leaving her phone behind and I’m worried.”
“Why are you worried?”
“Jack, she’s not doing well. She’s had health issues—”
My stomach drops and my hand tightens around the phone. Afraid of what she’s going to say next, I whisper, “Is the baby okay?” I pray she says what I want to hear.
“The baby is fine.” I exhale as she continues, “As for my daughter, I’m not sure. That’s why I’m worried. She went for a nap and shortly after, came downstairs and walked out.”
I run my hand over my face. I’m such a selfish fucking prick. I abandoned her when she needed me most. “Did she say anything before she left?”
“She just said she was going out for awhile, but that was three hours ago. I don’t know, call it mother’s intuition, but I feel like something’s wrong.”
My mind frantically flips through a mental Rolodex of Holliday’s friends. My food is set down in front of me, but I’ve lost my appetite. Without looking up at the waitress, I ask, “Did you call Tracy?”
“Yes. She hasn’t heard from her today at all.”
I eye the phone charger behind the counter again. What if she’s called me? What if she tried to get a hold of me and couldn’t? Fuck! Pushing the plate away, I slam my fist down. Where is she? I say, “My other phone is dead. Keep this number, Marilyn. If you hear from her you call me immediately or have her call me.”
“I will. But Jack, please don’t hurt her again.”
“I won’t. I promise.” My voice drops as my guilt sets in. “I’m sorry.” And I realize this is gonna be the first of many apologies I give.
“She deserves better than you’ve given her.” She’s right, so I let her finish. “Either be here or let her go, but don’t let her live in this purgatory any longer.”
I’m getting off way too easy. Holliday deserves so much more. But I’m gonna find her. I’m going to tell her what she means to me. And I’m going to love her with all that I can like I should have done all along. “Call me as soon as you hear from her.”
“I will,” she says, “And Jack, take care of yourself.” She hangs up and I’m left there sick to my stomach.
The woman who has consumed my days for months has disappeared and I’m sitting in Wyoming eating a fucking cheeseburger. I stand and toss some money down. When I head for the door, Flo calls after me, “What about your food, Handsome?”
“I’ve got to go.” I jump into the car and start the engine. Dirt flies up behind the car, leaving the diner in a cloud of dust as I feed onto the highway. I call Rochelle.
“Hello?”
“Rochelle, it’s me.”
“Johnny?”
“Yes.”
Her questioning turns angry. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”
“Have you heard from Holliday?”
“No. Her mom called earlier, but I don’t think we need to worry just yet. She’s only been gone a few hours.”
I have trouble controlling my emotions when I snap, “I need to find her!”
“Calm down, Johnny. She might be in yoga. She could have gone to a movie.”
“In the middle of the day? She left her phone, Rochelle. That’s not like her. She always has her phone on her.”
She sighs. “There are plenty of things to be upset over. Holli needing a little time off isn’t one of them. I’m sure she’ll be home any minute. She probably just went to the beach to clear her head.”
Fuck. The beach. Why didn’t I think of that? “That’s probably it.” I feel my heart slow to a regular beat, and ask, “I know I’ve lost a lot of rights when it comes to her, but if I ask you how she’s been, will you tell me?”
“Honestly?” Rochelle asks. “She’s not good. How do you think she would be?”
“I love her, so fucking much, but I’ve screwed up.”
“Royally, Johnny.”
“How can I fix it?”
“You already know the answer.” Her exasperation is heard.
I nod though she can’t see me and confess, “I thought I could hide out and play music in some dive. But I can’t go on like this anymore.”
“Why not?”
My voice cracks as I swallow hard and say, “Because I need her. I love her, Rochelle.”
“She needs you. But even more, she still loves you, too. I know this. I can see it in her eyes when she talks about you or you are mentioned.”
“I’ve become a mere mention in her life.”
“That’s your doing. But you can fix this by coming back.”
&n
bsp; “I’m already on my way.” I pass a sign that indicates I have another hour until I’m in the nearest city with an airport. “Her mom said the baby’s okay. Is that true?”
“I’m not going to lie to you, Johnny. Things have changed with her. Holli’s not the same woman you were with. She has wounds that aren’t visible, but they’re there. I just hope you find her before they scar her permanently.”
“So you don’t think it’s too late?”
“It’s never too late to make amends. You’re better than your actions have shown. This isn’t you, Johnny. You’re not a careless person, so stop pretending you have no responsibilities. You have a wife and a child on the way. Be the man I know. Be the man Cory respected. Be you again. We’re all here waiting for you to return to us.”
From anyone else, this would be a knife to the heart. But Rochelle’s different. She always was. She took a punk kid and helped to make me into a man. Not by insulting me, but by expectation. “You don’t hate me?”
“You piss me off sometimes,” she says lightheartedly. “But I could never hate you. I love you, Johnny.”
“I love you too. Thank you.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You’ve done more than I can thank you for.”
She laughs. “You’re making me all teary. Stop it,” she jokes. “So hey, this is your number now?”
“It’s temporary until I can charge my other one. You can use it if you need me.”
“Thanks. If I hear from Holli, I’ll pass it on.”
“Thanks. You doing all right?”
“Better now that I’ve heard from you.”
“Yeah, it’s good to hear your voice.” A small smile slips into place. “Take care. Okay?”
“You too and don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t. Not anymore.”
I drive to the closest city and hop on a flight a few hours later. I just hope I’m not too late. Rochelle’s right. I’ve fucked up royally and I may pay the price and lose Holliday for good. I hope that’s not that case, but I deserve it if it is.
Maybe she can find it in her heart to forgive an unforgivable soul.