by Sonya Clark
“God, who’d want to go to school forever?” Megan overdid a dramatic shudder. “Eternal homework, ugh.”
“There was a guy in my business communication class like that. He was on his third or fourth major by then.”
“Did he have rich parents?” Megan placed a package of hamburger in her cart and led them away from the cooler.
“No, a shitload of student loans. You don’t have to start paying them back until you graduate or quit school.”
Megan snorted. “Sounds like a winner. I bet he had women beating down his door to get a piece of that useless action.”
“Freshman girls liked him. He’d buy the beer if they fronted the cash.”
“See, this is what I missed by not going to college. An extension of high school where the creeps can legally buy me beer instead of having their older brothers do it.” She pointed at an aisle. “I need cream of mushroom. So why does your advisor think you declared the wrong major?”
Daisy made a face.
Megan said, “Oh, was I supposed to forget that part?”
Daisy shook her head. “It was just a bunch of crap about following my dreams and shit. My dream is a decent job and a house that doesn’t have wheels. I can get that with a degree in human resources management. Hopefully.”
“It’s not the sexiest career goal, that’s for sure, but so what? Does she think everyone is supposed want, I don’t know, to be a lawyer or whatever?”
Daisy stared at her list. “She said I’m doing well in my classes, which I know that. I know my grades are good. I’ve got the bags under my eyes to show for it. But she says I seem uninspired by the coursework.”
Megan put two cans in her buggy and moved down the aisle. “What does that even mean?”
“She said I may not be cut out for something that’s practical but boring. That the work may not be challenging enough to keep me happy. That it might not be the right kind of career for me.”
“Even if that’s true, how the hell does she know that about you?”
“I think her Magic Eight Ball told her.”
Megan pulled her phone out of her purse and checked the time. “I need to get going so I’m not late picking Daddy up. Call me tonight and we’ll talk some more about your shitty career goals.”
“And after that, we’ll talk about your shitty love life.”
Megan put a hand to her heart. “I treasure these talks of ours.”
“Put the frozen pizza back, fat ass.”
Megan slapped her ass that was not fat at all as she walked away. “Extra cheese, right here, baby.”
Daisy wheeled her buggy around and went to the far end of the food section to pick up milk and eggs. After that she traveled all the way back to the produce and searched through the flower bouquets until she found one that wasn’t too straggly looking.
Her school advisor wasn’t wrong. That had been the worst part of their whole conversation. Daisy had felt like she was back in high school, listening to a guidance counselor tell her she wasn’t living up to her full potential. She’d sat there biting back angry words the whole time, wanting to tell the woman that she hadn’t lived down to people’s worst expectations of her, either. So she waited tables at a bar, so what. So she lived in a trailer, big deal. She paid the rent, not someone else. She paid all of her own bills no matter how hard it was to juggle things or what she did without. She didn’t let men treat her like crap just so she didn’t have to be alone, something she’d seen every day of her life growing up. Her dreams may have been small, but they were hers, and she would make them come true.
Even if they didn’t really feel like dreams. Even if it felt more like a quest to prove a point more than something to make herself happy. She may have been only twenty-six, but Daisy knew that sometimes the best you could hope for was the privilege of standing on your own two feet.
If that was all she could have, she would gladly take it.
Chapter 3
Wade didn’t know what day it was until he made it through a shower. It took the first sip of coffee for him to remember what city he was in. Monday morning. Memphis. A motel off Interstate 55. He put off thinking about anything else until he’d finished the coffee.
God awful motel room coffee was something he had plenty of experience with, sadly. This, though – this was worse than usual. Bitter, acidic, and not enough sugar and creamer packets to take the edge off. He dumped the last of it down the sink, turned on the cold water and cupped his hands underneath. A few sips of that, though it didn’t taste much better, and then he shut off the tap. His reflection was as unkind as his piercing headache. The heavy bags under his eyes would get him charged extra by an airline. Fashionable stubble did nothing to hide his sallow skin. Tell-tale threads of gray served as unintentional highlights in his dark brown hair.
He looked like shit.
“Fuck it,” he said to his reflection.
Ten minutes later he had his bag and his guitar stowed in the truck and he checked out of the motel. The worst of rush hour was over but in Memphis traffic was always like something out of one of the lower levels of Hell. He made his way downtown in fits and starts, getting caught in snarls around construction and speeding through the clear sections. For once, he would only be a few minutes late for a meeting with his manager.
Becky Walker had other clients, artists far better than him at holding on to the success she helped build. But she kept him on her roster out of sentiment. Wade had been her first big success story. Managing him to the pinnacle of country music achievement had allowed her to build a thriving business. No interstate motels for her, no, sir. Becky Walker stayed at the Peabody.
Wade left his truck in a parking garage, cringing at the prices listed on a sign at the entrance. He was a long way from broke but he couldn’t throw money around like he used to, not playing casinos and county fairs. The best advice he’d ever taken from Becky was investing his songwriting royalties. He rarely touched that money.
He’d been to the Peabody a few times but always forgot which was the best entrance. This time he had to walk down a long concourse past shops and the iconic fountain. Kids and their parents were clumped around the fountain to watch the ducks that swam there several hours a day. He weaved through the crowd until he finally reached the lobby bar.
Becky sat at a table right in the middle. She looked up from her phone and gave him a baleful look.
Wade took the chair opposite her and grinned. “Hello, darlin’.”
The attempt at humor failed to impress her. “You look like shit.”
“I’ll have you know my Wranglers are clean and I even brushed my teeth.”
“Take that hat off.” She indicated the black Stetson. “I know your momma, I know you know better.”
Wade blew out a breath and took off his hat, placing it in the seat between them. He had a bad feeling he knew what was coming. Worse, he knew he deserved it. “Look, I can explain.”
“Famous last words of a fool. Now take off the sunglasses.”
He considered refusing but knew it wouldn’t work. She’d rip the damned things off his face if she had to. He removed the classic aviators and hung them on his shirt front. “I didn’t sleep so good last night.”
Becky pursed her mouth into a thin, angry line. “Curled up with a good bottle, I’m betting.”
A young, pretty waitress saved him from saying something awful. She took his order for coffee and left, giving him a curious look over her shoulder.
Not everybody thought he looked like shit. Somewhat bolstered, he faced his manager. “Go on. Just get it out of your system, I know you’re dying to.”
She pounced. “The casino called me. You didn’t think you could get fired and me not find out, did you?”
“Oh, I knew they’d call you.” He looked away, preferring to gaze at the ducks in the fountain than see the disappointment in the eyes of one of his oldest and dearest friends.
“You got drunk on stage. While performing. I thought yo
u were past all that.”
He thought he was too. He’d been doing better, much better. Sometimes the past snuck up on him and he didn’t know how to stop it from sending him into a tailspin. “I’m sorry, Becky. I really am.” The throbbing behind his eyes got worse and he squeezed the bridge of his nose, hoping to relieve some of the pressure.
The waitress brought his coffee and a refill for Becky. She smiled at Wade when he thanked her.
Wade dumped sugar and creamer into the cup. “So what’ve you got lined up for me next?”
This time it was Becky’s turn to look away. “Nothing.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? You really want to ask me that? You’re not reliable.”
“Hey, I’m a lot better than I was.” He had to work to keep his voice at a reasonable volume. “So I backslid once. That’s no reason to give up on me.”
“I will never give up on you, Wade Sheppard. But it’s clear to me you need a break.”
“What I need is to work.”
“Then you shouldn’t have gotten drunk on stage!”
“God damn it, Kristin had another baby. I just found out last week. Some lady asked me to sing that god damn song and I just, I snapped.” He waved his hands as if hoping he could pluck the right words out of the air. “I didn’t really snap. I just broke a little.”
“Oh, Wade, honey.” Becky took his hand. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t want to talk about it. Still don’t.”
She nodded. If anyone understood, it would be her. “Drink your coffee before it gets cold.”
He did, and thank God it was better than that shit he’d had at the motel. They sat in silence while they both drank their coffee. Becky was almost fifteen years older than him. She’d been his manager, best friend, big sister, pain in the ass, and constant champion since the very beginning of his career. She really should have dumped him as a client years ago, but they were family. He hated letting her down, and he’d done so much of that over the years.
“You want me to send some flowers? Maybe a gift?” She spoke in a tentative voice that was unlike her.
Wade nodded. “That’d be nice. It was another girl.”
“I’ll take care of it when I get back to Nashville tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
She gave him another brief respite before going in for the kill. “This doesn’t change how I feel. You need a break.”
“I need to work,” he repeated. Not so much for the money. Mostly so he wouldn’t wind up standing still and staring at the walls, thinking too much. That never worked out well for him. “I can take a few days off if you want, but I don’t need more time off than that.”
“You were fired for being drunk on stage, and it’s not exactly a secret. I couldn’t book you anywhere right now even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to.” Becky took a deep breath and shifted her coffee cup between her hands. The tiny lines around her eyes were more pronounced than usual, which meant she was angry. That never worked out well for him, either.
“There were extenuating circumstances.” He wanted to take that back as soon as it was out of his mouth.
Becky seared him with a look that burned all the way down to the soles of his boots. “You’ve been getting worse for a while now. Don’t try to deny it.”
Wade pushed his coffee away and angled his chair so he could look directly at the fountain. He leaned his elbows on his knees and watched the ducks swim laps and play in the water. Better to face the ducks than Becky. She wasn’t wrong, and as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t deny it. “It won’t be like before. I promise I won’t let things get that bad again.”
“That’s right, you’re not. What you’re going to do is take the summer off.”
He came up off his elbows and glared at her. “The whole summer? Come on.”
“You can go to rehab. Visit your folks. Go on a vision quest. I don’t care what you do, as long as it’s something that helps you pull your head out before it gets lodged too far up your ass.”
Wade bit back a scathing reply and focused on the ducks. He had a shotgun back at his vacation house that would make short work of the lot of them. Shooting the shit out of something sounded like a damn fine idea at the moment.
“Take some time to relax. Maybe even try writing some songs. It’s been a while since you did that.”
That stung like buckshot at point-blank range. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried to write. He had, plenty of times in the years since the last album. But the songs never came together and he left them unfinished. As far as the world was concerned, he was an ex-songwriter.
“Think about what you want for your career,” Becky said. “Then call me at the end of summer and we’ll talk.”
“Fine.” The arrival of the waitress spurred him to move his gaze from the ducks. Ignoring his manager, he gave the girl his best smile. “Well, look at that. You must have known I was wanting more coffee.”
She giggled as she refilled his cup. “I did have my eye on you, Mr. Sheppard.”
“Oh, now, I think you need to call me Wade.” He eyed Becky and gave her a look as if to say, see, I still got fans. Young fans, even.
“Okay, Wade.” The waitress pulled a napkin with the hotel logo imprinted on it out of her pocket along with a pen. “I was just wondering, um.”
“Were you wanting an autograph, darlin’? I’d be happy to give you one.”
Becky rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her front.
Take the summer off, my ass, Wade thought. He was so glad Becky was here to see this, right after suggesting he put his career on hold. He still had fans, people who wanted to hear his music and get his autograph and do whatever else this pretty little waitress had in mind. This was exactly what his manager needed to see. She needed it almost as much as he did, but he’d never admit that.
The waitress placed the napkin and pen in front of him. “Thank you so much! You are such a nice man.”
Wade picked up the pen. “Thank you for saying that, darlin’. That’s real nice of you. Who should I make this out to?” Her hair was swept over one shoulder and covered her name plate.
“Make it out to Wanda, please. My mom’s gonna be so excited when I give this to her. She’s a big fan of yours from way back.”
It took everything he had but he kept his smile intact and signed the napkin with a flourish. To Wanda, thanks for being a fan. Wade Sheppard. Then he handed over the pen and napkin and upped the wattage on his smile. “There you go, darlin’. Tell your momma I wish I could have met her in person.”
“Aaw.” She clutched the autographed napkin to her chest and cocked her head to one side. “Thank you, I will.” Mercifully, she left.
Wade dropped the smile and leaned over, pointing an index finger at Becky. “Say one word and I’ll key your Escalade.” An unpleasant flush of heat spread through his body and turned the coffee sitting in his stomach into a heavy sludge. He wanted to crawl into a hole and only come out to shoot things.
“I don’t need to say anything.” Becky gathered her purse and tucked cash discreetly under the handle of her coffee cup. “Darlin’.” She stood and moved to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do what I said, Wade. Take some time off from the road. Figure out what you want to do.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do all summer?” The prospect of being alone with his thoughts, nothing to do and nowhere to be, terrified him. He was a performer, damn it. If he didn’t perform, then what was he good for?
“You’re two and a half hours from home. Go see your family. Your momma always loves for you to visit.”
That was true. His daddy and youngest brother, not so much. The brother he got along with was currently on the other side of the world. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to the lake house. Guess it wouldn’t hurt to go make sure the place is still standing.”
Becky said nothing to that but it wasn’t hard for him to imagine what she was thinking. When in
Nashville, Wade stayed in the guest house of a friend who’d managed to hold on to everything Wade had lost. Otherwise, he lived on the road. The lake house as he called it was a place he’d bought at the height of his career and used as a vacation home. Now it was the only real home he had.
“Take care, hon.” Becky gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze and walked away.
Wade grabbed his hat and swung up out of the chair. He strode slowly to the fountain. The crowd watching the ducks had thinned and he had no problem staking out a spot with a good view. The water gurgled pleasantly. The ducks swam and dipped and quacked at each other. Twice a day there was a big to-do over them: once in the morning as they were led out of an elevator, over a red carpet, and into their fountain showcase, and then in the evening when they were guided back to their penthouse accommodations on the roof. Surely they were the most pampered ducks in all of Tennessee. All they had to do was follow orders and not shit on the tourists.
Wade turned and left before his brain could take that metaphor any further.
Chapter 4
Daisy settled at the kitchen table and looked everything over to make sure she had all she needed. With a steady hand, she lit the single white taper candle. The flame burned bright in the dark room. All the lights were off and curtains drawn to block the afternoon sunshine. She always did this in the dark, no matter what time of day she was able to do it.
“Happy birthday, sweetie.” Tears popped into her eyes with a startling suddenness. She wiped them away and continued. “You’re eight now. Getting to be a big girl.”
Daisy was seventeen when she got pregnant, eighteen when she gave birth just before dawn on an early summer day eight years ago. The boy she’d been dating was a year older and convinced by his parents to transfer to an out of state college. It didn’t matter, he didn’t want anything to do with their baby, anyway. The last time she saw him, he stuffed a sweaty wad of cash in her hand and told her to take care of it. It was nowhere near enough money and too late in the pregnancy for her to be comfortable considering abortion. She’d heard the baby’s heartbeat, strong and rabbit fast.