It’s day eleven when my phone rings.
“Hey, dude. What’s going on?” I ask as I clip a leash on Chet and get ready to take him for a run.
“What the hell is happening down there?” Mike asks, all kinds of noise in the background.
“What do you mean? And where are you? What the hell is all that noise?”
“Sorry man. Just a sec… There. Is that better?”
“Yeah. I can hear you now at least.”
“Sorry. I was in a rehearsal room. Jenny’s about to cut the last track on her album.”
“That’s great. You must be excited.”
He pauses before making a humming noise in his throat. “Actually, I’m too worried to be excited.”
“Why? Is there something wrong with the album?”
“No. It doesn’t have anything to do with the album. It’s about everything going on with my bro down in Texas.”
My heart sinks a few more inches. “Yeah? So what new shit have you heard?”
“Well, Jenny talks to her mom once a week, if that tells you anything.”
I scratch Chet behind the ears and walk onto the porch to sit on the swing. “Yeah, I can imagine what you’ve heard from that source.”
“Give me the real story, will you? I’m sick of getting it from tabloids and Mrs. Turner. Joss called the law firm to shout at them about allowing the shit to hit the Daily Star in the first place, but they copped client confidentiality and refused to discuss it with him. I’m about one Internet click from booking a flight to come down and see for myself that you’re okay.”
I sit back and sigh. “It’s a fucking mess, man…and I don’t know what to do.”
Fifteen minutes later I’ve told Mike every detail of my past with Marsha and our time together in Texas and Hawaii.
“So you’re sitting there waiting for her to what? Come around?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“And what’s she coming around to? Letting you pay for lawyers?”
“Well, yeah. I know I can keep her from losing Sean, so it seems like a no-brainer to me.”
Mike snorts. “Yeah, about that...” He can be such an asshole sometimes. It never ceases to amaze me.
“What? I can’t leave her to fight it on her own.”
“Of course you can’t, but you also can’t expect her to be happy that you proposed to her out of guilt and that you have no plans beyond paying for an attorney.”
I sit there, too shocked to speak.
“Dude. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Jenny, Tammy, and Mel, it’s that women know when you’re not all in. You can tell them that you love them, fuck them senseless every night, and make all kinds of grand gestures, but they know when you’re making a half-assed commitment.”
“You’re saying my commitment to her is half-assed?” My voice is tight with irritation.
“Isn’t it?” he asks.
I sit with that for a moment even though what I want to do is tell Mike to fuck off. I love Marsha. I love being with her. When we got back from Hawaii I had dreams of spending time with her—time in bed, time with Sean, time taking her to new places and adventures. And what else? I didn’t have dreams of a life with her. Not the kind of life she deserves. I didn’t think about where we’d live, what my next career move would be, what dreams she has. I didn’t think beyond a few weeks from now. I need to think about years from now—decades from now.
Since Lush split up I’ve been drifting. Moving from one place and project to the next. Benefit concerts, surfing, ranching, watching first Joss, then Walsh and Mike get their shit together and figure out what they’re doing with their lives. Meanwhile I’ve drifted, and I sort of thought drifting with Marsha would be more fun than drifting alone. But of course Marsha doesn’t want to drift. She has a kid and responsibilities, and I’ve said nothing, done nothing, that would prove to her I have a plan for us. That I’m truly committed to us.
“Shit,” I say to Mike as I exhale the breath I’ve been holding while the pieces all clicked into place.
“Yeah,” he answers. “Do you see what I’m saying?”
“God…” I clear my throat and rub the stubble on my chin. “Yeah, I see it.”
“Good. Now what are you going to do about it?”
I look out at the tiny town that in so many ways has been as much a prison as a sanctuary for Marsha, and just like that I know what I have to do.
“I’m coming home,” I tell Mike.
“Okay.” He doesn’t ask what that means. “Send me the flight info and I’ll pick you up.”
“Thanks, man,” I tell him.
“Make me proud, brotha’. Make me proud.”
And I will. I’m going to make them all proud. Finally. And I’m going to make a life for Marsha. One she doesn’t even realize she wants.
STUDIO B is full of people in suits when we arrive. I’ve been in Portland for four days and it’s gotten crazier each day. More meetings, more suits, more paperwork, and more energy between Joss, Walsh, Mike, and me. Today is it—the day we sign our new partnership papers and officially relaunch Lush.
“If everyone will have a seat we’ll get started,” Dave tells the roomful of people.
We’ve had a big conference table brought in, and there are enough seats around it for everyone. After we all sit down and everyone has a cup of coffee in front of them, Dave points to the three large stacks of papers in front of him.
“This stuff is history in the making, everyone. I have no doubt that the incorporation of Lush Enterprises is going to be a gold mine for everyone concerned, and beyond that it’s going to be a real testament to the will and the priorities of these four young men who I pulled out of a bar in downtown Portland eight years ago. I knew then that they had something special, and music fans all over the world agree. Now we’re going to go through this stuff piece by piece, so bear with me.”
We spend the next two hours signing papers—papers that bring Mike’s company, Sunshine Productions, under the Lush Enterprises banner, papers that guarantee Joss the right to record and distribute one solo album a year as well as have three months off every year to tour and perform as a solo artist. Walsh signs a will that gives his son, Pax, his share of Lush Enterprises should Walsh die before the kid is twenty-one—Mike, Joss, and I are each a trustee for Pax’s interest. And we sign papers that establish the Lush Foundation and name me as president of the board.
The foundation will have a steady source of funding—ten percent of the gross revenues of Lush Enterprises each year. It gets a cut before any of us do, and its focus will be two-fold—programs that help women and children in poverty and programs for animal welfare. I’ve already started researching our first project, a program that works with pregnant teens to help provide them with housing and healthcare as well as education and vocational skills.
Finally the last piece of paper circulates around the table, ending with Joss, who signs it with a flourish and sits back in his chair, looking every inch the hotshot corporate executive he’s just become.
“Congratulations,” Dave says, a huge grin spreading across his face. “And welcome to Lush Enterprises.”
Everyone stands, shaking hands and congratulating each other. Once the lawyers and other suits have left the room, Joss, Walsh, Mike, Dave, and I go to the comfortable seating area and collapse on the sofas and armchairs.
“How do you feel?” Dave asks.
“Like a million bucks,” Mike says.
“That’s about what all those fucking attorneys are going to cost us,” Joss bitches.
“And we’ll make that back in five minutes with that endorsement deal with Wheeler’s Beer,” Walsh reminds him.
“True.”
“Well.” Dave stands. “I’ll leave you guys to your celebration. Take next week off. We’ll field questions from the press, maybe give a couple of exclusives to some of the higher-quality print publications so they get it right. Then week after next we shop for offices and staff
.”
“And next summer we tour?” Walsh asks for clarification.
“Next summer you tour. Which gives you plenty of time to get reacquainted with the music, and if you want to write a few new songs to throw into the mix you can.”
“Oh, we want,” Joss asserts, looking at each of us.
We all nod in confirmation.
“Good. That’s the shit I like to hear,” Dave answers. “I’ll talk to you next week.”
We all say our goodbyes to probably the best manager in the history of rock and roll and then look at each other.
“If I could I’d have a drink,” Walsh says. “Not because I’m stressed out, but because I want to toast us. We rocked the shit out of this stuff.”
Mike stands and goes to the small refrigerator in the corner. He pulls out four cans of root beer and passes them around before making a production of pulling the tab on his and holding it up.
His face grows serious and he looks at each of us before he starts speaking. “Eighteen months ago I made the biggest mistake of my life. I intentionally blew up the best thing I’d ever had, and I regretted it the second I did it. I never thought I’d have a chance to make things right with the best damn friends and bandmates a guy could have. I can’t thank you enough for giving me another shot, for giving this band another shot. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than make music with the three of you.”
“I can think of something you’d rather do,” Joss says with a giant smirk on his face.
Walsh coughs into his hand and mutters, “Jenny,” at the same time.
I can’t help but smile.
“Yeah, okay. You’re right about that. But music with you guys is a good second.”
“To Lush,” I say, holding up my can of root beer.
“To Lush,” they all repeat.
AS I sit in my seat waiting for my flight to Dallas to lift off, I think back over the last few days. The discussions and plans we made. The vast array of things we put in place to ensure that our lives will be what we want them to be. The decisions we made because we each want the band, the music, and other things too. Sadly, it’s the first time since I was seventeen years old that I have a clear idea in my head of where I’m going and why. It’s amazing to me that I spent nearly a decade of my life with no idea of what I wanted, how I was going to get it, or who I wanted to be with me when I did.
As the plane circles the Dallas airport, preparing to land, I rehearse my speech to Marsha in my head. I can’t blow this. It might be the one chance I get. It has to be perfect.
When I arrive back at Mrs. Stallworth’s I drop my bags off and head straight to the Bronco. Marsha’s shift doesn’t start for another three hours, so I have a little time to get everything ready.
When I walk in, Leanne and Ronny are already there sipping on sodas and talking to Jimmy.
“Hey, look,” Ronny calls out. “It’s one of them damn rock stars that keep hanging around my ranch.”
“Hey, man. How’s it going?” I give him a handclasp and then kiss Leanne on the cheek.
“Watch it, hotshot,” Ronny jokes as he grabs Leanne and pulls her away from me.
“Eh, he’s not like that other one,” Jimmy grunts. “Jenny’s boyfriend. He’d steal your woman out from under your nose, but Colin here’s a good kid, aren’t you?”
I laugh and sit on a vacant barstool.
“So,” Ronny says, watching me closely. “What’s up?”
“I need your help,” I tell them, and then my plan begins.
Chapter Twenty
Marsha
THE DAYS after I leave Colin standing in the office of the Bronco are some of the hardest I’ve faced. I know—harder than being a homeless, pregnant teen? It’s a different kind of hard. I have a job, a place to live, and the love of Sean. But I hear the whispers from the other mothers when I pick him up from school each day, and I see how some of the customers at work won’t look me in the eyes anymore. There are daily pro-life marches at the Baptist church. There are only five people, but it’s still a constant reminder that to some people in this town I’m a symbol of evil.
While all of those things make me sad and humiliated and worried for what Sean might hear at school, most of all, I notice the absence of Colin. It hurts my heart and destroys my will, but I have a child, so I get up every morning and I smile and I make breakfasts and lunches and I do laundry and dishes and I listen to him tell me about his day. I save my heartache for when I’m alone in the early hours of the mornings after I’ve gotten home from work.
That’s when I lie in the darkness and think of everything I’ve lost. My second chance at true love, the companionship of a good man, someone who cares about Sean, me, and what happens to us. But I also remember that as much as Colin might care about me, he doesn’t understand me. He doesn’t know what I need beyond a lawyer and some cash. He would be a short-term solution to a much bigger problem, and I can’t bear to face the moments when short term doesn’t work anymore. I need a solution to the bigger problem. I know that now. I need to quit surviving and learn to live. If Colin’s presence has helped me realize anything it’s that.
So some nights, in addition to missing Colin, I try to imagine what living looks like as opposed to surviving. I need things—a better job, a better home, more security. And while I love the few friends I have, I need more of them. I need people who are on my side, people I can trust like family, because I don’t have one.
Somehow I have to become a better Marsha than the one I’ve been for the last decade. That woman gets by, but her son deserves so much more. So much more than I had as a kid. In the darkness of my apartment, staring up at the ceiling from my fold-out bed, I promise that woman that I’m going to change her. I’m going to make her a better person with a better life. Somehow.
Two weeks after I last saw Colin I answer a knock at my door and find Jeff standing there.
“Hi,” he says, his voice low and quiet. He looks different. Bigger, bulkier, but also less confident, almost tentative.
“Uh, hi,” I answer, fear spiking through me and making my hands shake. “You’re out.” Way to state the obvious.
“Yeah. Got out a few days ago. I would have called first, but I guess I don’t have your number anymore.”
I changed it so he couldn’t contact me from prison. “I had to get a new carrier.” I’m a liar.
“I figured it was something like that.” He looks over my shoulder into the living room “You alone?” he asks.
While I’d feel safer lying, it’s pretty obvious no one else is here. There’s no way to hedge this one. “Um, yeah. Sean’s at school for a little while longer.”
“Can we talk? You can leave the door open or whatever. But I’d like a few minutes of your time.”
I guess he can tell how scared I am. But as much as my fight-or-flight instincts are shouting at me, I can’t think of any legitimate reason not to let him come in. The fact is he’s a scumbag, but he never hit me or hurt me.
“Okay. Come on in.” I stand aside and gesture for him to sit down in the living room. I push the door most of the way closed, but not completely.
If he notices he doesn’t let on.
“Can I get you glass of water or something?” I ask, unable to keep myself from being a polite hostess even though I’m sure it’s lost on Jeff.
He gives me a grim smile. “Nah. I’m good.”
“So, you’re here to talk about Sean?” I ask as I sit on the opposite end from him.
“Yeah.”
“Carson told me you were wanting to go back to court.” I swallow, my stomach flipping like a gymnast inside me.
Jeff lounges back into the armchair, his legs splayed, and runs a hand across his buzz-cut hair. “Look, Carson means well—”
I struggle not to snort over that one.
“—but he has not been speaking or acting for me the last few weeks. He has no idea what I want to do about Sean. Honestly, I think he got so wrapped up in how he cou
ld exploit things to score some cash he couldn’t see past it.” He pauses and looks up at the ceiling as if he’s trying to master his emotions. “I heard what he did to you at the Bronco.”
I press my fists to my gut, to contain the sharp pain that threatens to explode from my center every time I think of that night. “Well, Carson’s never been known for being subtle.”
He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, an earnest expression on his face. “I’m so sorry, Mar. I promise you he’ll never bother you again, and if there’s anything I can do to help make that whole thing better—talk to people, tell them it was a lie, whatever you want.”
I’m so surprised that I stare at him for far too long. “Um, thanks,” I say, my mind spinning in confusion. “That’s… Gosh, I’m not sure what to say to that.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I can imagine. I mean it though. If I could undo it I would. I don’t know if it was true, and it’s not my place to ask, but no matter what, he had no right to announce your private business to a roomful of people.”
My nose and my eyes sting as feelings of gratitude rush through me. In spite of what happened between us, Jeff is my son’s father, and I’d like to think that he at least has that much consideration for me.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“Now, about Sean.”
My relief is short-lived. I suppose he’s been buttering me up so he can dump the custody battle on me.
“My guess is Carson told you a bunch of wrong stuff about that too.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you want and I’ll let you know if it matches what he said.”
“I don’t want anything, Marsha. I have to be honest and say that I wasn’t ready to be a father, and I don’t think I’ve been much of one. I’m still not sure if I’m cut out for it and I think that, until I do know, it’s better for me to stay out of Sean’s life.”
Again, he’s stunned me into silence. How many times in one discussion can Jeff be someone completely different than the man I was married to? I can’t help but huff out a low laugh.
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