He stepped center stage to acknowledge the waves of applause. Her hands were damp, her knees trembling. Chopin had certainly never effected her like this.
He gestured for silence. “Thank you.” He paused for a beat. “How are you, Sedalia!?”
The crowd roared back to life, and he waited until they’d subsided. “We’ve pumped you up, now we’ll cool you down. Our next set is a series of ballads, some old, some new. This first one’s new…China Blue Eyes…hope you like it.”
Stepping back, he signaled the musicians. Three-Ring rapped out a gentle foot-tapping beat, then the guitars riffed into a rush of sound that culminated in the soar of fiddles in flight. Jon moved forward again and dropped the guitar to hang by its strap. A single spot locked on him; he raised his eyes and crooned a capella.
China blue eyes
Such a surprise
To find childhood reprised and
Everything that matters in your china blue eyes.
Filling up my heart,
Filling up my mind,
Filling up my soul is
Everything I’m finding and everything I’m feeling,
Childhood unreeling
In your china blue eyes.
As the band joined him, a deep blue glow lit the stage. The crowd sighed and settled back. She closed her eyes, and Jon’s sweet baritone swept over her, swept through her. This time the backup singers crooned behind him. In your china blue eyes.
As he sang, scenes from the past weeks drifted behind her closed eyelids. His quirky half smile when he watched Michael and Melanie frolic in the pool. The flare of relief and anger in his eyes when she’d returned with the children on Michael’s birthday. The wind whipping his hair when they’d jounced in the Jeep. His sweet determination when he’d bent his head to kiss her. The way his eyes always seemed to search for hers, his hand reach for hers, almost like they were an old married couple.…
She opened her eyes. Jon’s head tilted toward the VIP box. Even though she knew it was pure foolishness—he couldn’t see her against the glare—she imagined he stared straight at her. Straight into her heart. A heart she’d guarded, a heart she’d armored against hurt, against pain. She sucked in air, light-headed, bewildered, aching as her heart cracked to let the sweet flow of his voice surround it, warm it, massage it to life. The song was for her. About her.
Everything that matters in your china blue eyes.
The last note of the refrain resonated and died. There was a brief pause, and then the crowd erupted. Someone tugged her arm.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Melanie whispered. “Really bad.”
She jogged herself out of her fantasies. She was mooning over Jon like some starstruck adolescent. Of course he sang to her. To her—and to every other female in the audience. He performed. That was his job. And he wouldn’t have achieved such astronomical success if he couldn’t, for at least one heart-stopping instant, make every woman believe he longed to be with her. Still, a voice whispered, how many of those women had been so thoroughly kissed by him?
As for the song, he’d started composing it before he’d met her, so it couldn’t be about her.
But somewhere inside, buried because she wasn’t ready to face it, she knew it was. It was too much to be coincidence. It had to be about her. But…did he mean everything the words implied or had she just been a—what do you call it? A muse?
Filled with confusion, she took Melanie’s hand and signaled Roy. Roy heaved to his feet. The little girl danced in place. Judging from her pained expression, they’d never make the distance to Jon’s private trailer so she opted for the public restrooms. With the show in full swing, there shouldn’t be too many fans wandering about.
They picked their way down through the grandstand on stairs that spilled onto the graveled walkway that led between the bleachers back to the fairgrounds. Above the horse barns and FFA building, they could see the Ferris Wheel’s gaudy lights. Out here, the honkytonk music blended with the bass from the concert. Sounds of life swirled around them, but all she could hear was the echo of Jon’s song. His song for her.
The path was deserted. They hurried past the blue-and-white striped awning of the Baptist revival tent, the red-lacquered “Jumbo Hot Dogs and Fresh-Squeezed Lemonade!” stand and skirted the Budweiser Beer Garden. She pointed to the left. Melanie skipped ahead, then darted through a door marked Mares.
Leaving Roy standing sentry, she followed Melanie, who scurried into a stall. Waiting for her, Lil leaned a hip against the bank of sinks that lined a mirrored wall. Only one other stall was occupied.
She twisted to look in the mirror, plucking at a few curls, then looking deep into the eyes that stared back at her. Their expression was somber. Stupid to get so enraptured. It was only a song. Even if she’d been his inspiration, that didn’t mean he really felt all those things. If this was all the fortitude she could show, it was fortunate Jon would leave soon. Her forehead glowed with a film of sweat. Outside, the August night was just this side of comfortable, but the bathroom still held the heat of the day.
A toilet flushed. She glanced up—and met Mari’s eyes as she emerged from a stall.
“So the great Lilac Van Castle is slumming, is she?” Mari strode to the sink and unleashed a roar of water into the basin.
Lil blinked. Taking a hesitant step, she touched Mari’s shoulder. It stiffened. “Mari, we can’t go on like this. Our differences are hurting Mother and Pop.”
Mari didn’t reply. She twisted the faucet and shook her hands, splattering water over the mirror, then stalked to the towel dispenser, her spine cast in iron.
Lil’s heart sank, but she tried again. “Please, Mari. We’re sisters. I miss you.”
Mari jerked on the roll of towels, cracked off a length, then whirled around. Her eyes glinted with tears, but her face was pure fury. Her earrings trembled. “You should have thought of all that before you stabbed me in the back.”
“But, Mari, we—”
“Fell in love? Don’t feed me that line of bullshit. Save it for your adoring public.” Mari wadded the towels. “I know about your agreement with him. I heard you telling Seamus at your wedding.” She spit out the last word like it was foul. “And wouldn’t the first Mrs. Van Castle love to know about that little deal?”
Lil glanced in alarm at Melanie’s stall, but the door remained shut. There was no sound from inside.
Mari saw her look. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep your little secret. I won’t tell the world how the crusading Lilac O’Malley offered herself up for sacrifice, saved the family farm, her sister-in-law and poor, rattled baby Mari who wouldn’t have been able to—” She screwed up her face. “How did you put it? Oh, yes. ‘Keep her head on straight.’ I believe those were your words.”
“Mari, I didn’t mean—”
Mari dashed the towels to the floor, her freckles standing out on her white face. “It could have been me, Lil. It could have been me. Hock’s always been the queen bee, you’ve been the sweet little princess, and I’ve been nothing. An accident in the O’Malley progeny. Jonathan Van Castle was my one-way ticket straight out of Cordelia. But no. Lil knew what was best. Lil always knows what’s best.” She swiped her eyes. “I mean, geez, give me some credit. I would’ve found a way to help Patsy Lee, too. And Pop. Even you. I would have!”
Despite the plaintive tone, she doubted Mari had thought further than her own bid for freedom and Jon’s—she could admit it—considerable charms. But seeing Mari’s misery, she knew her sister had built a romantic tragedy in her head and cast herself as the jilted and misunderstood heroine. That was Mari.
Lil felt no remorse. Mari would have expected a superstar existence, not days spent wiping noses, sharing childish confidences, playing Junior Monopoly and baking snickerdoodle cookies. And, unlike her, Mari would have misunderstood Jon’s inevitable advances. She would have fallen in love and broken her heart in the process. Lil knew she’d made the right decision, but deep regret pierced her over th
eir fractured relationship.
She touched Mari’s arm and said the only thing she could think of. “I love you.”
“And you think that makes everything okay? You expect me to tell you I love you back, what a great person you are for doing what you’ve done? Well, I don’t think you’re all that noble. You didn’t think about the family when you agreed to marry him. Don’t kid yourself. You only thought about yourself.” Without a backward glance, she slammed out of the bathroom.
Heartsick, Lil sagged against the sink. She considered Mari’s words. Had she somehow warped her good intentions into her own means of escape? She thought of the pleasure she’d taken in her shopping sprees, in her growing adeptness at handling the press. Had she married Jon for more reasons than salvaging her family?
A toilet sounded, and feet shuffled. Melanie. She’d forgotten Melanie.
The stall door swung open. Melanie took a step out and stopped, her thin shoulders slumped, head bowed and bangs dipping over her eyes.
Lil rushed forward and knelt in front of her. “Oh, Melanie…” She slid Melanie’s hair behind her ear and glimpsed tear stains. “Look at me, sweetheart.”
“Lil?” Roy nudged the door open.
“We’re okay,” she called over her shoulder. “Be right out.”
The door clicked closed. Mel’s eyes remained downcast.
“Oh, honey. Oh, Mel…” She continued stroking the shiny, brown hair, casting through her head for just the right words. But there were no right words.
Melanie looked up. Her eyes, flecked with gold just like her father’s and filled with more wisdom than a child of ten should have, gazed into Lil’s. “Do you love my daddy?”
She couldn’t answer. She stared at Melanie, her mind numb.
Melanie sighed and reached up to toy with one of Lil’s curls, her eyes fastened on her fingers. Then in a small voice Lil had to strain to hear, she asked, “Do you love me?”
The soft words sliced deep into her heart. Throat aching, she gathered Melanie tight. “Oh, yes, Melanie. I do love you.”
The little girl expelled a breath and laid her head on Lil’s shoulder. “I love you, too.”
Lil’s heart was so full it could burst. She laid kisses on the top of Melanie’s burnished head and rocked her. She did love Melanie, and Michael, with a fierceness that astounded her. What had started as fondness had blossomed into a full-blown, gut-wrenching, heartaching solid core of maternal love that she knew, knew with a sudden flash of insight, would always be a part of her.
Mel stirred and pulled away. Again, that steady gaze. “Are you going to leave me?”
Meeting those eyes filled with such love and trust, Lil almost broke down. She hugged Melanie again and tried not to think of the three-year agreement, salving her guilt with the knowledge she’d always be able to visit them, knowing Melanie and Michael needed stability and normalcy and love much more right now than they needed the truth. She’d find a way to tell them. But later, when they were older, less full of fear.
And because she wanted to—needed to—believe the words as much as the children, she choked out the lie. It stumbled over the cold dread in her heart when she thought of that day in the future. “No, honey,” she whispered. “I’ll never leave you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE THREE DAYS following the State Fair were even busier than the three days before. While Jon huddled with Peter checking and rechecking every detail for the next phase of the world tour, Lil took the children to Cordelia overnight for doctor’s appointments and enrollment in school, hoping scenes from their new life would help distract them from the melancholy of Jon’s departure.
When the fourth day arrived, Van Castle left for Toronto among tearful farewells, and Lil bustled the children to Cordelia, glad for Roy’s stabilizing presence. She breathed a sigh of relief she’d gotten through the interlude without having to confront Jon.
She was still too confused about the song and the kiss, still too bewildered by her emotions, to risk any private moments, especially since she was sure just his presence would addle her thinking. His sojourn overseas would make it much easier for her to settle her feelings. Because, truth be told, she’d started to care for him. And, maybe, he cared for her, too.
Her heart pinged like a pinball at the possibility, but her mind swerved around the idea. She’d protected Mari from heading down this very path. She wouldn’t endanger her own heart and coddle the notion that a country superstar and a small-town girl could chance a future together. They wanted different things.
As summer concluded with a Labor Day Picnic in Cordelia Memorial Park, Van Castle moved on to Calgary and the Country Music Week at Telus Convention Center. The children moved on to school.
Melanie proved to be a natural student, and she surprised them with a mean game of softball. Joining Daisy’s fall league, in short order she ranked alongside Daisy as a top hitter. Michael, though, balked at the restrictions of kindergarten. After he dropkicked his I Love Numbers book into the classroom’s hamster cage, Lil suggested to his teacher that she pair him with Rose, ostensibly to help Patsy Lee’s youngest daughter. As Lil hoped, he took the responsibility to heart, his disruptions dropping to maybe one a week instead of a half dozen.
Through September, as Jon and the band jumped the Atlantic and hopscotched through Scandinavia from Hartwell Arena in Helsinki to the Falkoner in Copenhagen, then on to The Netherlands and Belgium, Lil and the children settled into a routine. A daily priority was Daddy. Time zones and schedules caused problems with phoning, although they did manage a call every weekend. Instead, they relied heavily on email.
With Melanie helping Michael, the children and Jon tapped out brief exchanges every day. Lil scanned and sent schoolwork and pictures on a regular basis, but she wrote only one lengthy missive a week. Her notes concentrated on the children. She would have emailed more often except she didn’t want him to think that she was pining for him. He fell into her rhythm, contacting her no more often than she did him, but with longer notes than the ones he sent his children.
Even with that limited contact, instead of fading in his absence, her feelings for him still made her by turns giddy or annoyed, and she was far from sorting things out.
As the leaves burst into the vibrant colors of fall, Van Castle traversed from a country music festival in Paris to the Hellenstadion in Zurich and a series of concerts in Milan, Vienna and Munich. The children and Lil collected maple leaves and pressed them between waxed paper, spent chilly Saturdays baking cookies, made Halloween decorations and spent one Sunday at Farmer McElwain’s Pumpkin Patch and Corn Stalk Maze, where Michael’s howls when he got lost sent Roy crashing through the field and left Lil doubled over in laughter. One memorable evening was spent celebrating the Country Music Awards when Van Castle took home (via satellite) the Performers of the Year award.
At the end of October, Jon had a ten-day hiatus before Van Castle was scheduled for performances at the American Traditional Music and Dance Festival in the Czech Republic. Because Peter had arranged a series of radio shows through the European Country Music Association, Jon couldn’t come home, and they debated whether or not to send the children to him. With reluctance on both sides, they’d ultimately decided the trip would be too disruptive. Lil wasn’t sure whether she was disappointed or glad.
October faded into November and Van Castle traveled to Germany. By the Sunday before Thanksgiving, Lil had lost track of whether Jon was in Hamburg or Leipzig, but she’d quit pretending she didn’t know exactly how many days he’d been gone. Eighty-six, including today.
***
At her parents home on Maple Woods Drive, Lil brushed some crumbled, brown leaves off the swing that hung at one side of their columned front porch and sank into the faded, red cushions of the swing. It creaked in reply, protesting the heaping quantities of mashed potatoes and gravy she’d consumed at Sunday dinner.
Approaching twilight deepened the shadows in the yard. Warm earlier today, the a
ir now held a bite that promised another night of frost. It wouldn’t be long until the first snowflakes flew. She pulled her sweater over her chest.
Across from her in a lattice-backed chair, angled just so to catch the last, pallid rays of the sun, Pop huddled in an eye-bumping blue-and-saffron flannel shirt, his nose tucked in a book. He looked up, smiled vaguely around his unlit pipe, then returned to his reading.
She returned his smile, then untucked the email she’d printed off the computer. The paper was soft from repeated reading.
She studied the subject heading and smiled again. She wasn’t the only one who’d lost track. Frankfurt - or maybe Berlin.
A soft snort made her look up. In a matching swing on the opposite side of the porch, Roy dozed, chin nodding. She looked at him with affection, then back at the sheet.
Tour’s still going great. Every place we go we’re mobbed and the venues are sold out. Peter tells me the comeback album is number one. Tell the kids again how much I liked the card they sent when we won the award. I saved it on my desktop so I could look at it anytime. Looks like Van Castle’s made it—again. Still, I miss you all. (Here she wondered—and wondered at herself for wondering—if the “all” tacked on to the end of the sentence was an afterthought.) Thanks for keeping me up to speed on them. Great pictures you sent of them in their Halloween gear. Mel made the perfect bookworm. Where’d you find those karate robes for Michael?
She hadn’t needed to look far. They were part of the package that came with lessons at the local Karate for Kids outlet. At least she’d channeled his kicking and punching into something positive. One of the dojang’s rules was no practicing on other people, to Roy’s great relief.
Tell Mel I’m proud of her report card. Don’t know where she gets all those brains from. Not from me. I was a screwup in school. Glad she likes her teacher.
SING ME HOME (Love Finds A Home - Book One) Page 21