by Sonya Clark
There was no way he was getting to sleep any time soon. Might as well work on some songs.
***
“I’m sorry I messed up your date,” Megan said.
“Don’t worry about it.” Daisy hung her black dress up and kicked her heels into the closet. She’d changed into shorts and a tank as soon as Megan had calmed down, which took a while. Every time the tears subsided, they’d start again in moments. They’d talked for over an hour about Mr. Hollister’s diagnosis. Megan still wasn’t entirely sure what all this meant for the long term. The doctor had been a bit vague. Daisy suspected that was because he knew they needed to get over the shock before being able to process details.
Megan wasn’t ready to do that. She refused to consider the possibility that she’d ever have to put her father in a facility. Daisy said nothing to that. Sooner or later, he would need full time care, and Megan had a job. She needed to work to help pay their bills, but her pay at the clothing store wasn’t enough to hire a nurse. Then there was the reality of her size relative to her father. Mr. Hollister was a tall, beefy man, like his sons. Megan, the only daughter, was petite and small-boned like her late mother and grandmother. Daisy had worried for a while now what would happen if Mr. Hollister fell and Megan couldn’t help him.
Plus there was the fact that Megan was a beautiful, lively twenty-six year old who should have been living her own life. Instead, she spent more and more hours of her life outside of her crappy job taking care of her father. That would only get worse.
Now was not the time to bring any of that up. Megan needed to come to terms with her father’s diagnosis and get to a point where she could ask the doctor detailed questions, and be able to process the answers. Right now, she needed to cry it out with her best friend. God knew Daisy had cried out a hell of a lot on Megan’s shoulders over the years.
Megan sat on the bed with her legs stretched out in front of her, one pillow behind her back and another clutched tight in her arms like a teddy bear. “I was pretty out of it when we got there. Did he have his shirt open, and should I regret that I can’t really remember what his chest looked like?”
Daisy laughed and shut the closet door. She bounced onto the bed and settled next to Megan. “We don’t have to talk about my date. But yes, his shirt was open. And yes, you should regret not getting a good look.”
“Aaw.” Megan laid her head on Daisy’s shoulder. “You were gonna get all slutty and I messed it up.”
“I’ll get another chance.” Her ardor may have cooled but thinking about Wade – his hand on her upper thigh, his bare chest sprinkled with soft hair, his lips and tongue and his kisses and words – ah, God, she had to stop. If she kept thinking about him, she’d be knocking on his door in the dead middle of night after taking Megan home.
Megan sat up. “Don’t you sound confident. Awesome.”
Daisy shrugged. “He likes me. I like him. It’s not complicated.”
Megan shifted to face Daisy, pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged. “So, it’s what? A summer fling?”
“Yeah.” Daisy shrugged. “I mean, I know what you’re thinking. I swore off men and dating and all of that. But I’ve been working my ass off and if I want to have a little fun, I see nothing wrong with that.”
“You’re right.” Megan peered at her oddly. “You’re absolutely right. But see, here’s the thing.”
“Oh, God, what? What? Don’t be my mother and ruin this for me.”
“I’m not your mother, I’m your best friend. So I have to be honest with you.”
“I know it’s just for the summer. He’ll be back on the road or back in Nashville or wherever. I’m okay with that. I don’t have any expectations.”
Megan pursed her lips and nodded. “You may not have any expectations but you do have a glow.”
That sounded ridiculous. “I have a what?”
“You get all glowy when you talk about him. There’s this look in your eyes I’ve never seen before.”
Daisy swung off the bed and stood. “There’s no look in my eyes. You want something to eat before I take you home?”
“Okay.” Megan gathered her hair and held out her hand. Daisy plucked a ponytail holder from the dresser and tossed it to her. Megan said, “We can do this your way. Just call me, okay?”
“You know I’ll call you. I always call you.”
“I mean if this thing with Wade gets to be too much. I don’t know if I’ll be able to be around much for a while. Daddy may need me to stay home more while he adjusts. He was pretty angry about the diagnosis.” She stopped and looked away. “I’m just saying, call me when you want to talk about Wade.”
“I’ll call you, but there’s nothing to talk about where Wade’s concerned. This is just a little summer fling, that’s all.” Daisy laughed. “Who knows, maybe he’ll write a song about me. Wouldn’t that be a great thing to remember the summer by?”
Megan gave her an odd pinched look. Daisy turned away and picked up her purse from the floor by the door. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
One way or another, they would not be talking about Wade during the drive.
Chapter 20
Daisy was sitting in her lawn chair enjoying a glass of iced tea, her library book about Johnny Cash, and the early afternoon sun when her mother arrived. She gritted her teeth. She’d managed to avoid Alice successfully for a while now. Too bad her good luck streak couldn’t have lasted longer.
Daisy made no move to go inside as Alice approached. Her mother could sit in a lawn chair too. “Hello, Momma.”
“We need to talk. It’s important.”
“It always is.” Daisy found her bookmark and tucked the book against her side.
Alice sat in the other lawn chair. “I know you don’t want me meddling.”
“But you’re gonna do it anyway.”
“I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Maybe you don’t want to see it, but you sure will tell me how it’s all my fault after the fact.” At least her mother wasn’t going to torture her with small talk.
“I’ve heard about you and that country singer going on dates. Daisy, don’t do this to yourself.”
Daisy blew out her breath. This promised to be entertaining, at least. “Go on. Get it out of your system.”
“You think this is a joke but I’m serious. You’ve got to stop making a fool of yourself with that man. He’d never want someone like you.”
Daisy counted to ten before answering. “He doesn’t care that I’m a waitress. He’s a nice man. Not some shallow guy who only cares about image and all that crap.”
Alice shook her head. “You don’t even know, do you? I’m not talking about your job, honey.” Scorn twisted her features. “Though I’m sure a man like that’s dated his share of waitresses.”
“Momma, you need to stop before you say something you can’t take back.” Though God knew it wouldn’t be the first time for that.
“Do you know anything about him? About his music?”
“I know what I need to know. What’s his music got to do with anything?”
“You need to look him up, Daisy. That record that won him all those awards, that song, Empty Rooms. Have you listened to it?”
Unease prickled along Daisy’s spine. “No.”
“Him and his ex-wife lost a child. It was a miscarriage. That’s what the song is about.”
A heavy weight pressed down on Daisy’s midsection. She could feel her mother’s next words coming before Alice spoke.
“He lost a baby that he wanted. How’s he going to feel about the fact that you threw yours away?”
Something snapped inside Daisy, and broke so hard and so deep she knew there would never be any fixing it. She slammed her fists on the arm rests of the chair. “God damn it!”
Alice reared back. “Don’t you─”
“No, don’t you! Don’t you fucking dare! You’ve been doing this to me for eight years. I’m done. I won’t take this from you anymore.”
“I’m your mother. You owe me respect.”
Tears stung Daisy’s eyes. “I gave her the best chance at a good life that I could. I gave her to people who could give her a damn sight better life than the one you gave me.” The tears fell and she swiped them away angrily. “Your drinking and your men and your running around. One dump after another. Bills not getting paid. Charity meals from churches at the holidays. God damn it. I gave her up for adoption because I didn’t want her to be me and I didn’t want to be you.”
Alice stared, aghast. But silent. For once, she kept her mouth shut.
“I wanted her to have better.” Daisy stood. It took every ounce of self-control she had to stay on her feet and stand tall. “You need to go. Don’t come back unless you can let this go. I won’t have you treat me like this about the adoption anymore.”
“You hate me.” Alice sounded small and defeated and for the first time like she might have an inkling of the damage she’d done.
“I don’t hate you, Momma, but I’m not gonna let you treat me like this anymore. You say I owe you respect. You owe me some respect, too.”
That was all Daisy could take. She fled into the trailer as fast as she could manage and locked the door behind her. Tears rained down and she sank to the floor. She cried in anger, in sadness. Fear. God, fear. She’d done the right thing for her child but nothing could make her mother accept that.
What if Alice was right about Wade? What if he found out and hated her for it? Even if he didn’t hate her, he might see her differently. How could he not?
Daisy worked to calm down then pulled herself to her feet. She had to know for herself about this album and the story behind it. Her laptop was in the kitchen. She made her way to it on wobbly legs and booted it up. It didn’t take long to find out Alice was telling the truth. Article after article confirmed it. Worse, the songs were on Youtube and other places. Listening to Empty Rooms brought a fresh round of tears.
He never sang it at the bar. She couldn’t imagine having to sing that night after night, because it won awards and people expected to hear it. Expected to get an up close and personal view of his deepest, most private pain. Jesus, no wonder he used to drink so heavily. Losing himself on the road for all those years made so much more sense now.
Her heart ached for him. She wanted to tell him that, well, she could never really understand, but she empathized.
She shook her head for having such a stupid thought. Telling him something like that was pointless. It wouldn’t help ease his pain. And if he knew the truth, and felt anywhere near like what Alice did about it...Daisy couldn’t take that. The thought of seeing contempt in his eyes froze her to the core.
“Just a little summer fling.” She repeated the words she’d spoken to Megan. If this was just a summer fling, why did the idea of saying goodbye to him, for any reason, hurt so damned much?
Chapter 21
For the third night in a row, Wade stepped on to the Rocky Top stage without his hat. So far no one had commented, and he hadn’t talked about it either. It was likely he was the only person who saw any significance in the simple gesture.
There was a time in country music when a great many male artists were known as hat acts. Usually big black Stetsons, to be specific. Wade got his start when that was the thing. His record label wanted him to wear a hat, so he did. It didn’t matter to him and soon enough it felt like part of his stage persona, along with the too tight jeans and the colorful button down western shirts. He’d held onto that persona, that uniform, even throughout the endless years on the road. People expected to hear his old hits and they expected him to look like he had in those videos, so he did his best to give the audiences what they wanted.
He didn’t even think about it when he bought a new pair of jeans during his second week of residency at Rocky Top, a pair that actually fit, that he could move around in and not be afraid they’d split down the backside. It wasn’t until he realized he’d loosened up on stage some that he gave it any thought. Those old tight jeans had been the main reason he’d kept himself glued to one spot in front of the microphone. Now he wasn’t afraid to walk through the audience, or even dance with his guitar a little. Moves he hadn’t used in years, since his first time playing at Rocky Top, had his feet going all over the stage.
It wasn’t what the audience expected of him, but they damned sure seemed to like it. Especially the women.
The next thing to go had been those western shirts. He still liked some of them, but nobody booed when he showed up in a nice t-shirt, so he did it again. He felt like he was molting, peeling away layers of Wade Sheppard the Star to see what remained of Wade Sheppard the Man. It was terrifying on one level. No performer liked to disappoint their audience. But he figured if he did it piece by piece, layer by layer, then maybe not only would it be easier for him but also people wouldn’t notice so much. Until one day there he was, Wade Sheppard, himself, instead of a construct made of deliberate choices and carefully tested marketing ploys.
Now it was the hat’s turn to go.
He snapped the guitar strap in place then ran a hand through his hair self-consciously. “Good evening.”
The audience answered with a chorus of greetings. He looked for Daisy among the tables and didn’t see her. An itch of worry like a mosquito bite that wouldn’t heal clawed at him. They’d been playing phone tag for the last few days. At first he thought she was busy with Megan but the longer it went on, the more he was afraid she was having second thoughts about getting involved with him. The not knowing was eating at him but he didn’t want to force the issue. Not yet, at least.
He strummed the guitar idly, no longer sure what he wanted to play tonight. Saturday night crowds liked upbeat songs but he was about a million miles away from that. Usually he faked his way through a set under those circumstances but he didn’t think he could manage that tonight.
Unbidden, his fingers found a Spanish rhythm. He went with it for a while, until that jukebox in his head supplied a song to segue to – I Never Cared For You by Willie Nelson. The song was a lover’s lie, meant to protect against a broken heart. From there Wade continued in the same vein, Spanish rhythms and melancholy, Texas and California country with dust and grit sandpapering the notes and faded dreams coloring the lyrics. Some of it was music he’d known from childhood, but it took adulthood and rolling over those western highways at night under an endless blanket of stars to be able to play them with real meaning. Singing them as a young man, barely more than a boy, had been little more than a recitation of words and an attempt at mimicking the music. Now he could feel the difference as he played. He called on every mile along the road since to infuse the songs with empathy and clarity. Every narrator of every song had a different if somewhat similar story, and he did his best to tell those stories in a way that would make them as deeply felt by the audience as by himself.
Looking out over the crowd, he could tell he wasn’t reaching everybody. Here and there people were restless, wanting Saturday night party songs. But some were affected. He could see it in their thoughtful expressions, the way they nodded along to the beat and tapped their feet. A few couples swayed and glided across the small dance floor. A few people crawled inside whatever memories the music called forth, their eyes glazed with distance and old heartache.
Being able to reach people was all he’d ever wanted. He remembered that now. The money and the awards and everything that went with them, both good and bad, those were an afterthought. This right here – seeing a couple sway to the delicate Spanish rhythm of his guitar, so clearly lost in each other as much as the music, seeing a man stare into his beer and be able to read in his eyes that his thoughts were years away – this is what Wade had been searching for right from the start. To make a connection, to move someone through song and story.
His hands faltered over the strings for a moment, then he gathered the will to conjure one more song for this set. At no time during this one had he seen Daisy. He’d been runnin
g late after a day spent working in the yard and garden at his parents’ house, so he hadn’t seen her before starting his first set either. He was pretty sure she’d been scheduled to work, but they’d barely spoken since she left his house the other night. Playing phone tag via voicemail and her passing him in the bar with a quick smile and an excuse of being too busy to talk. No, he didn’t want to be pushy. He did not want to be that guy. But he didn’t want to be that guy staring into his beer and seeing all his past regrets, either.
He thanked the crowd and left his guitar in its customary spot on a stand in the corner of the stage. Ronisha eyed him from the bar. He made a beeline for her and raised the barrier to get back there with her.
“Cowboy, you are killing the mood in here tonight. It’s Saturday night. Can’t you play some of that bro dude country people like so much?”
“I can’t stand that bro dude shit. Where’s Daisy?”
Ronisha deliberately didn’t meet his eyes as she filled a drink order before answering. “She called in sick.”
Well, now he felt like a shit heel. “What’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t know,” Ronisha said. “What’s wrong with you, playing all that oh God Imma bout to swallow a bottle of pills shit. Did you two have a fight?”
“No.” Shit. Had he done something and didn’t even realize it? Surely Daisy would have let him know if he’d stepped out of line. “Can you do me a favor?”
Ronisha raised her hands. “Cowboy.”
“Tell Randy I had to go. Tell him I hurt my back working in the yard with my father.”
She rolled her eyes. “They’ll be playing the jukebox if you leave. Instead of your nice voice, it’ll be all fake nasal twangs and sappy prom love songs. Damn it, cowboy.”
He grabbed her arms and kissed her cheek. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”