Simple

by Toler, B N

  “I miss feeling carefree,” I confessed. “I miss that girl, too.”

  “I do, too, but she’s still in there,” he lightly tapped my chest over my heart, “behind all the kick-ass parts of the woman you’ve become. It was nice meeting that you, too.”

  Ugh. He was being so kind. Saying all of the things I wanted—needed—to hear. He was bright warmth when all I felt was cold gray. Every part of me wanted to submerge in the love and refuge he offered.

  “Besides,” he went on. “It’s not every day a guy gets his own private performance from a famous singer. Your tribute to Queen in the buff was my favorite part.”

  “Cole,” I groaned as the mention of Queen unlocked another memory. He’d been begging me to sit down and relax, and my response had been to obnoxiously belt out Don’t Stop Me Now like I was Freddie Mercury, himself. I hid my blazing hot face in my hands.

  “But you were having such a good time. You were having a ball,” he teased, quoting the lyrics I’d sung.

  “Can’t you just forget about all of it? Pretend it never happened?” I smiled and batted my lashes at him.

  He furrowed his brows as if I was insane. “Forget you singing naked and covered in pancake mix…” His gaze drifted away from me as if reliving the moment. “No. Not a chance.”

  “Cole!” I smacked his arm.

  “I’ll definitely never eat pancakes again without thinking of you. Though, we never actually made the pancakes.”

  “Mercy!” I shouted dramatically, clasping my hands together and morphing my expression into one of pain and anguish. “Please, spare me!”

  Cole laughed loudly. “Okay. Okay,” he said. “I’m leaving.” The humor faded and concern returned to his gaze. “But seriously, Em. I’m sure the medication and alcohol did a number on you, but stress can mess us up, too. I’m here. I want to be here for you. I’ll help you and your mother any way I can.”

  His beautiful green eyes riddled with genuineness fisted my heart. I wanted to cry. Cole Kepner was everything.

  “Thank you,” I told him just as the guilt leered its head once again. But would he want to help you if he knew the truth?

  Cole kissed my cheek and left.

  Then I did my best to compartmentalize and tuck everything away—the situation with Cole, my father going AWOL, and Miles—so I could focus on what mattered most.

  Mama.

  As soon as the car pulled up, I rushed to it and opened my mother’s door. “Mama,” I choked out as emotion slammed into me. Her complexion was ashen, her features exhausted as she pressed on a smile for me. It had only been three, maybe four, months since I’d last seen her. How had I not noticed she was sick? She looked well months ago, but maybe I just hadn’t been paying attention. I’d been so caught up in my own drama, I hadn’t taken the time to really notice.

  I gingerly helped her out of the car before wrapping my arms around her. Her arms enfolded me and held me tight. I wanted to ask her why she didn’t tell me she was sick. Where she’d been; what had taken her so long to get here. I wanted to pour out all of the loving things I felt for her in my heart, say them right then and there, but all I could do was hold her and cry.

  After a few minutes she said, “Thank you for coming here. For canceling the tour. I know that was a big headache for you.”

  I pulled away and looked at her. Her eyes swam with tears but still held the fierce determination she’d always had. “Nothing is more important than you, Mama. I wish you’d told me as soon as you’d found out. I wish you would’ve let me help you.”

  “My hope was that you’d never know…at least not until I’d beaten it. I really thought I would win this battle.”

  My heart crushed with her words. She wiped at her nose with a tissue she’d been holding when she noticed Pepper.

  “Pepper,” she smiled. “Look at you. Lovely as ever.”

  Pepper blushed and smiled, though it was weighted with sadness, and moved into my mother’s arms. As they embraced, I noticed Connie watching us.

  “Hi, Connie,” I greeted. “Was the trip okay?”

  She nodded. “I don’t know if you know this, but you’ve got quite a few reporters and cameramen sitting at the end of the driveway.”

  I let out a defeated sigh. “I’m sorry about that. They found me pretty quick. Thank you for getting Mama here,” I added with sincerity.

  Connie nodded again. “I’m here for whatever you and your mother need.”

  Just then, an old RV rumbled down the driveway, its seventies-era paint job making me cringe a little as I rolled my eyes. “Reporters pretending to be lost,” I muttered, annoyed.

  Pepper snapped her fingers. “Don’t worry, I’m on it.”

  “No, wait,” my mother said, halting her. “It’s not a reporter.”

  The RV pulled to a stop behind Connie’s car. A few moments later a woman climbed out wearing hippie sunglasses with purple lenses.

  “So this is it, yeah?” she asked to no one in particular. She looked about my age with piercing blue eyes and long, wild curly blonde hair. I had no doubt it was impossible to tame, but it gave her a wild and fierce appearance that seemed to suit her. I was about to ask who she was when recognition dawned. I’d seen several photos of her, the ones Miles had sent to me. Holy shit! It was all true. Frozen in shock, I slowly glanced at my mother for confirmation, noting her uncertain gaze as she waited for my reaction. I opened my mouth to speak, but I was at a loss.

  “Emalee,” she finally said. “I’d like you to meet Bea—your half-sister.”

  Pepper and Emalee had warned us the press would come, and they weren’t wrong. Bailor was in the barn with the bay doors open, his mask pulled down and sparks flying as he welded when they showed up two days later. I’d heard the tires crunch on the gravel driveway and stepped out on the porch, hoping it was Emalee. A tall slender man with an ashen complexion leaned casually against the car while a woman stood a few feet away from the car, pointing her camera at an unsuspecting Bailor.

  “Hey!” I shouted as I rushed down the steps. They both jerked at the sound of my voice.

  “That’s the guy,” the woman said. “The one in the photo.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” I growled as I barged toward them. “This is private property.”

  Seemingly unphased, the man pushed off the car and walked toward me, passing the woman as she swung her camera towards me. “Mr. Kepner,” he said, extending his hand out to shake mine. I stopped short, ignoring it.

  “You’ve got one minute to get your asses off my property before I call the police.”

  He snorted a laugh, casting a glance over his shoulder at the woman. “What do you think? It would take them an hour to get here, if anyone even answered the phone.” Then he looked back to me. “We passed through town on the way here. Looks like no one was in yet. Don’t worry, we mean no harm. We’d just love to hear about how you are affiliated with the lovely Alyssa Myers.”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “Well actually, it is. You see, I tell stories about famous people, so it is literally my business.”

  What an arrogant condescending prick.

  “So tell me,” he continued. “What do you know about this sister of Alyssa’s? Any details could earn you quite the payday.”

  Sister? I had no idea what he was talking about, but I kept my expression in check. “This is private property. Leave. Now.”

  The man’s humor faded and morphed into mock fear. Reaching in his jacket pocket, he pulled out a tape recorder and clicked a button on it. “You want us to leave or what, Mr. Kepner?”

  My blood boiled at his arrogance. The asshole was trespassing and thought it would be fun to poke the bear?

  I was a heartbeat away from knocking the recorder out of his hand and crushing it under my boot. Before I could move toward him to do just that, a shot rang out behind me, making me instinctively duck before I whirled back toward the house and the direction of the shot. Joe was at the b
ottom of the wheelchair ramp with our father’s shotgun broke at the stock, loading another round. He snapped it back, casually resting the butt on his thigh.

  “What in the hell?” Bailor shouted as he bolted out of the barn, his welding helmet pulled up but still on his head. He stopped short, raking his eyes from me to the strangers and finally to Joe.

  The photographer’s eyes were as wide as saucers and after a few moments of panicked processing, she scrambled back to the car.

  “Did you get the picture of him?” The man asked her as he laughed and clapped his hands. “Bravo, sir,” he yelled out to Joe. “Encore! Encore!”

  “Miles, let’s go.” The woman demanded, her voice brittle with fear.

  “He’s not going to do anything,” Miles scoffed as he went to her and took the camera, snapping a few quick shots of Joe as the woman cowered behind his thin frame.

  With that, Joe shifted the gun and took aim.

  “Joe!” Bailor shouted and sprinted toward him.

  “Don’t!” I yelled at the same time, but it was too late.

  Suddenly everything seemed to move in slow motion as Bailor and I scrambled to reach Joe as he squeezed the trigger. The shotgun blast impacted on the rear passenger window, sending the reporter and camera lady scrambling for cover as glass shattered around them.

  Miles whipped his head from the car to Joe, disbelief warring with the fear on his face.

  Joe broke the stock once more to reload as he shouted, “That right back tire is next if you don’t get your asses off this property.” No one moved as he slid the round into the barrel, but when he snapped it closed and lifted the gun to his shoulder, the two trespassers nearly clobbered one another as they lunged at the car and threw themselves inside before tearing down our driveway.

  Finally, I glanced at Bailor, and saw the same holy shit expression I was sure I had. In unison, we shifted our stunned gazes to Joe, just sitting there, shotgun draped across his lap, cool as a cucumber. One by one, we broke, each of us shaking uncontrollably with laughter. After a few minutes, Bailor fell to his knees and feigned worshipping Joe, which nearly set me off again.

  Eventually we calmed, and I looked hard at Joe, trying to figure out if he was the biggest badass or dumbass in the world. While his tactic had worked, it was bound to do exactly what Pepper had said it would—fuel the fire. And that definitely wouldn’t help Emalee at all.

  Mama sat in the rocking chair, her eyes closed as she moved slowly while I perched on the porch swing with my guitar, attempting to lose myself in the nostalgia of the scenery when Pepper exploded out of the house, phone in hand. Bea flew out behind her, her eyes wide. I could tell by the tightness in Pepper’s face that whatever she was about to say was bad news.

  “It’s Miles,” she said and held the phone out to me.

  I shook my head and waved her away, not ready to speak to him. Discovering my mother had known about Bea for years had been an atomic bomb of information to absorb. Bea and I had spent time together over the last few days, getting to know one another, but both of us were still numb with shock over the truth of what our father had done.

  “No, Em,” Pepper said sternly. “You need to speak to him.”

  Sighing, I leaned the guitar against the railing and took the phone from Pepper, shifting to make room for her on the swing. Bea leaned nervously against the railing, arms crossed as she chewed on her thumbnail.

  “Miles,” I said flatly.

  “Alyssa,” he crooned with delight. “I’m surprised I haven’t heard from you by now.”

  I closed my eyes and inhaled quietly. “We agreed on ten days. I still have some time.”

  “Hmm,” he hummed as if unsure. “I’m thinking we might need to bump that up a bit. Did your assistant show you the juicy photo I sent?”

  I cut my eyes to Pepper and she flipped her iPad toward me. I squinted slightly, confused at what I was seeing. It was a photo of Joe pointing a shot gun at the camera. My eyes widened as I met Pepper’s concerned gaze.

  What is this? I mouthed quietly.

  She shrugged and mouthed something back that I couldn’t understand.

  “I visited the Kepner farm this morning,” Miles explained after the long beat of silence. “Quite a brood you’re affiliated with.” I squeezed my eyes closed. “They weren’t very friendly.”

  “I wonder why,” I remarked sardonically. “Maybe because you weren’t invited.”

  “Never the less, the one in the wheelchair threatened us with a shotgun. He actually fired at us.”

  I shot an uncertain glance to Pepper as if she could somehow confirm this, but she shrugged. “I could report it to the police, and it would definitely be great for the show.”

  He was threatening me. Again. But this time he was threatening to bring Joe down with me. I couldn’t let that happen. Defeat washed over me. When I looked at my mother, she bobbed her head once telling me to agree.

  “Fine, Miles. I’ll give you the story, but only if you give me every single photo you took of the Kepners’ and something signed that you will delete all copies.”

  “Done. Your house tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Today,” I replied firmly. Pepper’s face contorted in to a what the f are you doing look. She wanted time for us to rehearse and have a strategy for diverting questions I didn’t want to answer. That would’ve been the smart thing to do, but more than anything I needed to unload some of the weight; something had to fall away before I was crushed under it. Move through or around it. It was time.

  By the time Miles showed up with his crew late that afternoon, Pepper had done my hair and makeup, though we didn’t go for my usual Alyssa Myers glitz and glamour look. Instead, she’d braided my hair so it fell over my shoulder and we’d kept my makeup clean and simple. I looked—like me.

  The crew was setting up the seating arrangement on the porch while someone attached a microphone to me. Miles was reading through a few papers he was holding, no doubt rehearsing how he’d try to catch me off guard. Of course, I had a surprise of my own for Miles. Something that would completely throw him.

  As I was being directed to take my seat so they could check the lighting, Cole’s truck pulled up the driveway. I shot a quick glance to Pepper who rushed down the steps and across the drive, stopping them before they stepped out of the truck. Cole pointed toward us, but Pepper held her hands up as if telling him to calm down. After a few moments, Bailor turned the truck around and they left.

  When she got back to the porch, she leaned close and in a hushed voice told me, “They came to tell us about what happened. I told them we’d come by later.”

  “I think we’re ready,” Miles announced, his face tight from fighting a grin. He was getting everything he wanted, and I could see the victory in his eyes. It didn’t matter he played dirty to get me here.

  Once we were seated and the camera was rolling, he fired off question after question, beginning with my ex-fiancée Seth.

  “Do you believe it was the first time he’d cheated on you?”

  I inhaled deeply, the humiliation of the entire ordeal like a punch in the gut. “I guess I try not to think about it. Knowing for a fact he’d done it once was enough.”

  “Do you still speak with him?”

  I shook my head. “No.” I kept my answers short, not offering more than necessary.

  Miles raised his brow, appearing slightly annoyed that he’d been unable to provoke a reaction out of me, but his coaxing tone never faltered. “Now, Alyssa—most people don’t know your real name, which is Emalee.”

  I smiled faintly. “It is.”

  “What made you decide to use a stage name?”

  I licked my lips. “We thought Alyssa had a little more…pizazz, I guess,” I chuckled realizing how silly it was.

  Miles leaned back, resting his chin in his hand as if inspecting me with thought. I knew rolling my eyes like I wanted to wouldn’t look good, so I let him play out his I’m a reporter who sees there’s more and I’m
about to push for it act.

  “You know, I have to say,” he began, “when we usually see you, I think it’s fair to say, you’re decked out with hair and makeup, but right now, you look…real. Like a normal person I’d see out on the street somewhere.”

  I shrugged. “I’m home. Out there I’m Alyssa Myers; here, I’m Emalee Jennings.”

  He beamed as he reached out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Emalee Jennings.”

  “Thank you,” I laughed and shook his offered hand, playing along for the cameras.

  “Tell me more about Emalee. I understand you grew up in Texas, but you say here is home?”

  It wasn’t a topic I thought we’d get into, but it didn’t seem like dangerous territory either. So I explained the house belonged to my grandmother and briefly told him about the summer I’d spent here when I was eighteen, just before my career took off. I didn’t mention Constance or the Kepners specifically, not wanting them caught up in this mess, or to have to deal with reporters seeking more of a story.

  “So it was after that summer that you became Alyssa Myers?”

  “Yes.”

  Miles shuffled the papers in his lap before lifting a self-satisfied gaze to meet mine, and I inwardly braced for what was coming. “I’d like to talk about your father, Stanley Jennings.”

  “Before we do that,” I stopped him. “There’s someone I’d like to bring out and introduce you to,” I said sweetly, enjoying my own surge of satisfaction at his furrowed brow.

  I nodded at Pepper, who’d been standing behind Miles, waiting for the signal. A moment later, Bea stepped out of the house and crossed to stand beside me as Pepper grabbed a chair and positioned it so we’d easily both be in the camera’s frame.

  “Can we get a mic on her please?” I asked the crew. Someone rushed around and dug through a bag.

  At his realization of who Bea was, Miles leaned an elbow on one knee and smirked, eager to resume his interview. Once she was good to go, I introduced her and the two shook hands. Darting his beady eyes between us, he bobbed his head. “I can definitely see the resemblance.”