He grumbles a little but doesn’t argue. “The second thing is that…I messed up, Wyatt. When I couldn’t take care of you. That was a huge mistake, buddy.”
“But you were—”
“I know. But there are consequences. It made people think that I couldn’t be a good mom. And your grandparents want to make absolutely sure that I don’t mess up like that again.”
“You won’t,” he says. “I’ll help you.”
God, he’s a good kid. “I know you would. And, for the record, I think I am ready to take care of you. It’s the thing I want most in the world. And I’m going to keep working until that happens, I promise.”
“But not right now.”
“Not right now. We need to give your grandparents a little time.”
“How much?”
I smile, my heart melting at his insistence. Maybe Cash was right—maybe this perfect, kind, insanely smart, funny little guy really is crazy about me. How did I ever deserve something like that? “Let’s talk about it again next week, okay? See where we are, then.”
That seems to satisfy him. “Okay.”
“Do you want to go to the park or something?”
“Nah. I want to stay here. In case Grandma needs me.”
This time I don’t give him a choice. I grab him from his swing and pull him in close. “Mom, hey!”
“Sorry, not sorry. I love you, kiddo.”
He sighs loudly but brings his arms around me. “I love you, too.”
After that he gets out his soccer ball and we kick it around the yard a little bit, practicing his short passes. “So what did you and Cash get up to?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at me.
I shake my head, laughing. “You’re going to be really jealous. Are you sure you want to hear?”
His eyes narrow. “Did you go to Disney World?”
“Like I would go to Disney World without you. No. We went to see the US Men’s Team play soccer.”
He stops dribbling the ball and stares at me. “Shut. Up.”
I can’t stop from laughing. “You don’t need to talk like that, even if you’re kidding.”
“Did you seriously go to the game?”
“We did. It was awesome.”
“I watched that game on TV! You were there?”
“Yup. Cash bought you a jersey, but don’t tell him, I think it was supposed to be a surprise.”
“That is so not fair!”
He kicks the ball at me and I stop it easily. “Talk about not fair—he didn’t buy me a jersey.”
“Do you think he might take me to a game someday?”
I think about our night at the hotel, about the way he had held me and soothed my hurts last night, how he listened to me detail all the terrible things I had done without judging me.
I have a feeling Cash is going to be sticking around for a long time. “Yeah, buddy. I think he might.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Cash
After the initial shock of the news wears off a little, Sam decides that she’s going to stay with the Warners for a few days. “I think it will be nice for Wyatt,” she tells me over the phone the day after she came to my room. “And nice for me, too. To be back in the house for a few days, while Doug is on everyone’s mind.”
I don’t tell her how jealous I am of that fact. That she was thinking about her former husband. Because that, of course, would have made me a jackass. To be jealous over a dead guy. A dead solider, no less, who had given his life so that jackasses like me could live our comfy little lives.
But I miss the hell out of her. Two nights in a row of sleeping next to her have made me pretty unwilling to give up that privilege. I throw myself into the song I started out on the balcony, wanting to be able to play it for her the next time she comes over. I don’t play it for my brothers—I want Sam to hear it first.
She calls me on Wednesday to let me know that the family has decided to throw a memorial party for Doug on Friday evening. “We had the funeral after they declared him presumed dead,” she says, and her voice sounds tired. I wonder what it’s like at the Warners. “But Bruce and Alice wanted to do something more positive, a celebration of his life.”
“I think that sounds really nice.”
“Will you come?”
I only hesitate for a moment. The truth is, I’m not sure that the Warners would really want me there, considering their reaction to me. But if Sam is asking me, I’m not going to say no. “Of course I will.”
She sighs, sounding relieved. “Will you ask the others for me? Daisy and and your brothers and Paige if she’s in town.”
“I’m sure they’ll come, too.” I pause, not sure how appropriate this will be but desperately wanting her to be there. “Remember we’re having that party for Lennon’s birthday Saturday. If things are still crazy for you, don’t feel like you need to come—”
“No, I’m definitely coming. I’ve been looking forward to it.” She sighs. “Honestly, it’s kind of what’s getting me through. The idea that at the end of this week I get to be with you.”
Just like that she has my heart beating faster, warmth spreading through my chest. “It’s getting me through the week, too.”
For the next few days I throw myself into the songs. The momentum from our preview is fueling everyone to work long hours. We’re close to finishing the album and the idea freaks me out a little bit—that means we’ll be leaving the cabin. I try to think about how much more free time I’ll have after we finish. We won’t be recording for a while yet. Normally I would spend that time bumming around L.A., making bad choices and trying to convince myself that it was fun. This time will be different.
I wake up the morning of the memorial feeling a strange mixture of dread and excitement. I haven’t seen Sam in days. Of course, a memorial service for her dead husband isn’t the ideal situation to spend time with her, but at least I’ll be with her. But I’m dreading it, too. Dreading seeing the Warners, worried that my presence might offend them. And I hate that Sam has to go through it. Everyone talking to her about Doug, reminding her of him, making her feel on display and judged—I know how much she hates that.
I grab a bowl of cereal and find Lennon and Daltrey sitting on the couch in the living room, some entertainment channel on the TV. “Are we on this?” I ask, gesturing to the TV.
“I saw a picture of us when the show started, “ Lennon said. “But I’m not sure what it’s about.”
“Might help if you turned the volume up, Len.” I grab the remote and turn up the sound. Seeing ourselves on TV is certainly nothing new, but it’s still strange enough that we usually pause what we’re doing to watch. The host is talking about some guy from a punk band I’m not overly familiar with and I think that maybe we missed the segment on us.
“The top spot on our countdown,” she says, raising an eyebrow at the camera, a knowing smirk on her face. “Belongs to one of the most famous family bands in the country.” A picture of my face fills the screen. “The Brothers Ransome can often be found dominating the charts. But there’s one place guitarist Cash Ransome also dominates—our list of Hollywood’s most brazen bad news bachelors.”
“Shit,” Lennon says, eyes darting to my face.
“What in the hell is this?” I ask, my voice sounding kind of strange in my own ears. I grab the remote again and hit the info button. The text on the bottom of the screen reiterates what the anchor just said. Hollywood’s Brazen Bad News Bachelors.
Pictures of me flash across the screen. In every one of them I have a different woman on my arm. Models and groupies and girls picked up at bars. I couldn’t tell you the name of half of them. In a lot of the pictures I’m clearly trashed, laughing at the camera or flipping it off. It’s like a parade of my greatest hits—if a sad, philandering man-whore could have greatest hits.
“While his penchant for good looking women might have been easily waved away by record labels as good-natured fun, the music turned sour for the brothers last year when Cash got i
nto some serious hot water. Multiple women came forward to tell the same tale—one that painted Cash not as a carefree bachelor but as a manipulative womanizer, eager and willing to use and hurt the women he takes to bed in his never-ending quest to live the rock and roll party life.”
“Turn this off,” Daltrey says, sounding pissed. “It’s garbage.”
But I find myself unable to flip the channel. The anchor, that self-righteous smirk still on her face, is now talking about my DUI. “Clearly Cash Ransome is out of control. While he might still be able to find willing women to join him in his quest for drugs, sex, and rock and roll, we have to recommend that our female viewers stay clear. He is, after all, our number one Hollywood Brazen Bad News Bachelor.”
The last picture they show of me was taken the night of the DUI. There’s a blond woman on my side, looking up at my face, laughing. I’m not laughing. I’m staring at the camera, my eyes dark and tired. Is that what I looked like? Haunted and bored? What in the hell was I thinking?
Daltrey finally gets up from his chair to come over and take the remote from me. He turns off the TV and tosses the remote aside. “Ignore that shit, man.”
“Yeah, Cash,” Lennon says. “It’s bullshit. Nothing to worry about. They run these stupid lists all the time.”
I don’t know what to say. A few months ago I would have laughed at this. I would have made self-deprecating jokes about how trashed I looked in the pictures. I would have ragged on my brothers for not participating in the rock and roll lifestyle with me. It would have been a huge fucking joke.
But I’m not laughing now. I can’t get that last shot out of my mind, the way I looked so unrecognizable.
Then I imagine Sam seeing that clip and my stomach turns. Without saying a word to my brothers, I take my still full bowl of cereal to the kitchen and dump it before retreating to my room, alone. I don’t feel so hungry anymore.
***
“You okay?” Daisy asks, leaning forward in her seat to touch my shoulder.
“I’m fine,” I assure her, lying through my teeth. The truth is, I haven’t felt so not okay in a long time. We’re sitting in my Porsche down the street from the Warner’s house, Daltrey and Daisy in the passenger seats, and I’m trying to get up the courage to go in. The entire street is filled with cars—I think the whole town might be here. I see Reed park the Jeep half a block away.
“Cash—”
“I’m fine, Daisy.”
I take off my seatbelt and open my door, trying to steel myself. Sam is in there. The thought of seeing her makes me feel better. Maybe I’ll be able to get my head straight once I see her.
We wait on the curb for Reed, Paige, and Lennon to join us so that we can all go in together. I wonder if that’s a good idea, if it will draw attention to who we are. I could do without any additional attention today. But it seems rude to leave the others to go in alone so I wait, feeling more and more stressed with every second that passes.
“This is crazy,” Lennon says once they finally reach us. “Is the entire town here?”
“He must have been very popular,” Paige says, her eyes wide and sad.
I nod once, not really wanting to think about how popular Doug was, and lead the way inside.
It’s packed, people filling every inch of space in the living room, the hallway, the kitchen. From the sound of it, they’ve spilled out into the back yard as well. I have no idea how we’ll ever find Sam in the mob.
I see Wyatt first—or rather, feel him, as he throws himself against my legs. “Cash!”
“Hey, kid.” I bend to give him a hug. “How you doing?”
“I’m good,” he says, his face serious. “Isn’t this cool? It’s all for my dad.”
“It’s really cool. He must have been an awesome guy to get this many people to come and celebrate him.”
Wyatt’s face lights up and I feel better than I have all day. Who cares about some damn trashy tabloid show? I’m here for Wyatt and Sam and that’s all I need to worry about. “Do you know where your mom is?”
“Sure.” He heads off across the room to the back door and I follow him, trying not to lose him in the crowd. I seem to be attracting a bit of attention, and I wish I could have worn a hat or something without being rude. My brothers and the girls break off to look at a picture display set up in the living room. I catch sight of a photo of Sam standing next to a tall, dark haired guy who looks a lot like Wyatt and I turn my head, a bit of the anxiety coming back.
But then Wyatt leads me into the backyard, to her, and I feel better immediately. She’s dressed in bright yellow, a happy color that I’m sure she chose on purpose. A celebration of his life, she had said.
She’s surrounded by people. A tall guy in an Army T-shirt is telling a story, all the attention of the group on him. Sam laughs at something he says, a real, head-tilted-back laugh. And then she sees me walking toward her across the grass and her smile grows.
She says something to the tall guy, presumably excusing herself, and makes her way over to me and Wyatt. “Hey, kiddo,” she says, ruffling his hair. His hand immediately goes to hers. “How it’s going?”
“Good. I found Cash.”
Her eyes are dancing when they meet mine. “I see that.”
She looks happy. It’s strange, to see that light in her eyes. Despite what she had told me about this being a day to celebrate Doug, and not to mourn him, I had still envisioned it being hard for her. But she seems peaceful, at ease with the guests here to talk about her husband.
“Thanks for coming,” she tells me, shooting me a quick smile. “I was just talking to Mark.” She ducks her head in the tall guy’s direction. “He was with Doug overseas. They were pretty close.” Her smile grows. “He’s been entertaining us with stories about Doug in training.”
“I want to hear!” Wyatt says, tugging her hand.
“You want to come?” she asks, eyebrows raised.
“Of course.”
I follow her to the group and she briefly introduces me as a friend of her’s and Wyatt’s. Mark nods at me before continuing his story about Doug, something involving the sneaking of contraband rations at basic training. Everyone is laughing, though more than a few eyes are flickering in my direction, clearly wondering who in the hell I am and what I’m doing there.
“Oh, there’s Mary,” Sam says, sighing. “I haven’t seen her since I left the base.” She shoots me an apologetic smile. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
She squeezes Wyatt’s hand and crosses the lawn to the young woman standing at the gate. I watch as they embrace, holding each other for a long time. I wonder who she is, how close they were in a different life. Wyatt is asking Mark for more stories and I feel completely out of place. I excuse myself with a claim to find something to drink and no one bats an eye.
There’s a cooler set up across the lawn and I head in that direction, hoping it contains something a little harder than water. I hear snippets of conversation as I go, all of it revolving around Doug. An older woman standing near the cooler is telling the park saving story that Sam shared with me the other night. “I’ve had a lot of students in my time,” she says, laughing wistfully. “But I don’t think I’ve ever met a kinder, more good-spirited child.”
“Well, his son is just the same,” another woman in the group says. “I had him in my Sunday School class last year and he…”
Since there’s no beer in the cooler I grab a can of Coke and stride away, somehow not wanting to hear how Wyatt is just like his dad.
You’re being immature, a voice in my head says. Are you jealous of this guy? This dead guy?
But it’s hard not to feel a steady stream of envy as I walk around the backyard. Every conversation I happen by is focused on Doug, every person there seeming to have something good to say about him. That he was kind. That he helped them in some way. That he got into some trouble that was charming and good-natured instead of sleazy and dangerous. That he made them laugh. How much he looke
d like Wyatt.
And over and over again I hear how much he loved Sam. How he rescued her from her abusive mom. How he provided for her even after his death. I realize for the first time that Sam doesn’t have a job, and feel like a spoiled idiot for not noticing sooner. There must have been some kind of insurance, or death benefit, to help her with school. Doug Warner was clearly not the kind of guy who would do something so thoughtless as dying without leaving something for Sam and Wyatt.
I make my way inside, thinking I’ll find my brothers, and instead find myself in front of the picture display. I lean in, peering at his face. He’s good looking in a traditional, boy-next-door way. He’s laughing in just about every shot. There are pictures of him as a kid, playing outside. In a soccer uniform. In an ill-fitting suit, his arm around a very big haired, gangly looking Sam. She’s wearing a corsage in that shot and I imagine they’re on their way to a dance, maybe that first Homecoming she had told me about. Their first date.
There’s a picture of their wedding, him in a slightly better looking suit, her in a simple white sundress. She’s grinning up at him in that shot, her face alight in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.
If there was ever a doubt that Sam loved Dough Warner, it’s impossible to deny it now.
“Hey, you.” I feel her head rest against my shoulder before I see her, smell the familiar flowery scent of her shampoo.
“Hey.”
“God, we look young in these,” she murmurs, reaching out to the touch the dance shot.
“You look happy.”
She sighs a little, the sound wistful, the side of her face still on my shoulder. “We were.”
“How about now?” I ask, looking down at her. “You doing okay today?”
She nods. “I am. I didn’t think I would—I’ve been dreading it. But somehow…it’s nice. Hearing everyone talk about him. Being able to remember him without feeling terrible.”
“I’m glad.”
She looks like she might want to say more but then she looks away, perhaps thinking better of it. “It’s probably not very fun for you,” she says. “All these strangers.”
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