A Carol for Kent

by Hallee Bridgeman

  “I didn’t even notice,” Carol said, then set her down and straightened the bumblebee wing on her outfit. “Did you have a good time up there?”

  Lisa shrugged. “It’s a little scary, but fun at the same time.” She looked around. “Where’s grandpa?”

  Carol eyed Harriet, Lisa’s grandmother. “He’s not feeling too well this evening, Lisa. He decided to lie down and rest while I came here,” she said.

  Carol felt a twinge of nervousness. Robert Kent had been staying home more and more often lately. She waited until Lisa ran to a group of friends before speaking to Harriet about it. “Has he been to the doctor yet?” she asked.

  Harriet pursed her lips and shook her head. “I can’t get that man to admit anything is wrong with him. Carol, I’m about near my wit’s end. Do you think your friend, Dr. Suarez, would come out to the house and talk to him?”

  “I’m sure he would, Harriet, but I don’t see what good it would do. He’s not going to let Henry examine him, and without an examination, he wouldn’t be able to tell what’s wrong with him.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” the older woman said. She looked at her watch. “I’m going to go tell Lisa good-bye, then go on home.” She looked around and said almost absently, “What time will the birthday party start Saturday?”

  “Four. We’ll be out around three.”

  “Why don’t you just let Lisa spend the night Friday? We can make it a special birthday treat,” Harriet suggested.

  Carol had seen that coming. Harriet had offered nearly every weekend for about a year now, but so far Carol only let Lisa sleep over there when her work kept her overnight.

  “We have plans for just the two of us Friday night, Harriet. But we’ll see you about three,” Carol said with a forced smile.

  Harriet frowned, then walked off to find Lisa. Carol sighed at the woman’s back. When Lisa was a baby and Carol struggled just to get through law school, working nearly full time and still trying to be a mommy, the Kents had offered to take Lisa full time and let Carol visit her whenever she was free. The notion had appalled her and she had refused, almost considering relocating to a school farther away from them.

  A year later, the child support checks slowly got bigger until she didn’t have to work anymore, but the offer had continued to bother Carol considerably. Perhaps if they had never offered that, she would feel more comfortable letting Lisa go out to their ranch and spend more nights. As it was, she didn’t completely trust their motives. They were good grandparents and truly loved Lisa, their only grandchild, but their opinion of Carol had room for improvement.

  Carol watched the little bumblebees weave their way through the crowd of fans while she chuckled to herself. If their opinion of her was low, it was her own fault. She showed up in their town not only five months pregnant with their son’s child, but asking for their assistance to help her find him. She remembered standing on their doorstep and explaining that she didn’t even know how to start looking for him.

  Her heart wept a little, as it always did when she thought of him, and she frowned at the memory. They’d contacted him for her, but he told them he wanted nothing to do with Carol or the baby she carried.

  In all fairness, he had supported them financially, but in the time she carried her and the nearly eight years since Lisa had been born, he had never once called nor written, and Lisa had never met him. Lately, Carol’s daughter had started expressing curiosity about her father.

  Carol decided that she would tell her one day. For now, she and the Kents both agreed that it was best she not be told just yet. They removed pictures of him from the house, and Lisa had yet to ask to see one. Once she did, she would immediately know who he was.

  She shrugged off her dark mood, deciding it was probably a reaction to the afternoon she’d endured, and went in search of her little bumblebee. They were going out for dinner to celebrate the recital with Lisa’s best friend and her parents. Carol always enjoyed the time spent with the Bradfords, and looked forward to shedding the tragedy of the day and the stress of Harriet Kent with tortilla chips dunked in spicy salsa and cheese enchiladas at their favorite Mexican restaurant.

  CHAPTER 3

  Friday, April 20th

  “BAH-BEE! Bah-bee! Bah-bee!” The roar of the crowd vibrated the steel I-beams supporting the arena.

  Robert “Bobby” Jason Kent was currently the hottest young male star in country music. He stood tall, a few inches over six feet even before he donned his cowboy boots, and lanky. His eyes were a bright blue with laugh lines in the corners, set in an angular face the cameras loved. Wearing a cowboy hat and a pair of jeans, he looked like anyone’s iconic epitome of a modern American cowboy. His rugged, striking handsomeness made him a favorite of both the magazines and tabloids.

  Even without his wholesome good looks, his voice would have been enough to push him up through the ranks of stardom. Between his trained tenor and his natural baritone, he could effortlessly belt out the fast dance tunes his fans loved so much. With his powerful tenor, he could sing a slow song that had women sighing to themselves, feeling as if he sang only for them. He answered interview questions in a thoughtfully slow, refined southern drawl honed on the whetstone of central Virginia. His responses always held a hint of dry humor that gave his spoken voice a velvety sound and female interviewers always felt relaxed and flirtatious in his presence.

  The crowd continued to chant his name. “Bah-bee! Bah-bee! Bah-bee!”

  He smiled as his band reset after the opening act. The trappings of modern day stardom often included things like drugs and alcohol. Early in his career, Bobby had wisely realized the reason they were called “trappings” and carefully and consciously avoided them ever since. Standing back stage in this moment, he realized once more that nothing could equal the euphoria of thousands of fans screaming his name. That feeling had no equal in this world.

  “Ready?” Gary yelled. Bobby threw him a thumbs-up to cue his band, and they started the opening music to their signature song, The Amarillo Swing. The crowd roared. Smoke billowed from the wings as the platform Bobby stood on shot upward through the floor of the stage. He began to sing.

  He could actually feel the sound waves from the crowds’ voices and wondered if they could even hear his voice as they joined him for every chorus. After he finished the song, the band quieted and he held his hands up, motioning for quiet.

  “Good evening, Raleigh,” he said with a sideways smile. Another wave of ovation swept through the room. As it started to quiet, he said, “All right. All right, now. If y’all will just bow your heads, we’ll really get this party started.”

  As intoxicating as the sound of the ovation of the crowd felt, there was nothing on earth like the silence of thousands of fans as they, as one, bowed their heads. Bobby prayed in a loud, clear voice, “Father God, we are so thankful to be here tonight.”

  He went on, praying over the concert, over hearts and minds, and ended with thanking God for his talent. Then he said, “And Father, please bless Harmony Harper tonight as she sings her new hit song, Even if it Were Only You!”

  As soon as he said, “Amen,” four spotlights bathed contemporary Christian newcomer Harmony Harper in pure white light. Her sequined lavender gown dazzled the audience even more than her bright smile and blonde curls. Bobby’s band instantly began the intro of her latest hit single that had met with such unexpected crossover appeal.

  The crowd went completely wild.

  Harmony had a young voice and a fresh outlook and, if Bobby knew anything about the business, he had a strong feeling she had a bright future ahead in music. Her brother, Franklin, acted as her manager and he had made some savvy decisions with her career so far. Earlier in the year, Bobby and superstar Melody Montgomery had invited Harmony to add a few tracks to their annual charity Christmas Album, and Harmony had enthusiastically agreed to meet with him and discuss it further. A few weeks ago, he had contacted her about Raleigh since she had a concert scheduled at one of
the largest churches in the Triangle the evening after his show, and she had agreed to surprise Bobby’s audience.

  The crowd was on their feet singing along with her at the top of their lungs. She finished her song with Bobby Kent singing backup. More than forty thousand voices sang the closing chorus along with them. “Even if it were only me! Just me! He would do it all for me. He would do it all for you! Just you! Even if it were only you.”

  It took over a minute for the shouts, whistles, and applause to die down enough for Harmony to be heard when she spoke. In her sweet, soprano voice she said, “Hey there, Raleigh! Thanks for letting me sing for you tonight!”

  The crowd roared. When they settled down again, Bobby grinned and said, “I’ll sing backup for you anytime.” Applause. “Hey folks, we’re gonna let Harmony go now, but remember she’s playing her full show right here in town tomorrow night…”

  The crowd’s reaction was deafening. Harmony covered her mouth with her hands and laughed out loud. She reached out and put a hand on Bobby’s forearm and he quickly snatched off his hat and fanned himself as if heated by her touch. She laughed even harder. The crowd ate it up.

  When the audience noise faded to merely a roar, Bobby said, “I take it some of y’all already have tickets.”

  Laughter and applause. Bobby’s band started strumming and drumming the opening chords and rhythm to Cowboys Don’t Cry. They could keep the bridge going for as long as necessary until Bobby sang the opening lyrics.

  Harmony bowed and waved and said, “Bobby, thanks so much for letting me share your stage tonight. I was really nervous, but it was great. Thank you so much for your hospitality. And thank you, North Carolina. I’ll see you tomorrow night!”

  “Harmony Harper, ladies and gentlemen!” Bobby declared as she left the stage and he got back to his own program.

  This was the last concert of the tour so he gave the crowd all he had. He played his guitar and his fiddle, sang for two hours without a break, then returned to the stage three times to perform three “final” encore numbers. He and his band members soaked up the crowd’s energy. It wasn’t until much later, they sat backstage in the early morning hours after the last fan left and technicians and support crew packed up the equipment and gear that belonged to his show that they all realized how exhausted they felt.

  There would be no loading onto the bus or the plane tonight to head for yet another venue. Instead, they took a limousine to the five star hotel that towered over the Research Triangle Park and went to their rooms to sleep, ready for the six-month break in touring that they’d earned. It had been eight years since they’d taken more than a few weeks off at a time.

  After a steaming hot shower, and a rapid surf of cable channels that lasted less than 5 minutes before he powered off the flat screen television, Bobby settled into the king size bed. Sleep refused to claim him. He rose and paced his suite, going from one room to the next, while the remaining adrenaline from the night’s show hummed through his system and kept his body from relaxing and getting some rest. He wasn’t concerned or bothered by it as he would be the night before another show, because there would be no concert the next night. Nevertheless, he felt restless and couldn’t stand the thought of waiting for the sun to rise before he left.

  He wanted to go home.

  Bobby Kent wondered why he found himself all alone in a posh hotel room at the age of twenty-nine. He didn’t even have someone he could call and talk to at this hour. When or where had his life gone so far off the planned path he had laid out in his youth? By now he fully expected to be married and settled on his family’s horse farm. He figured he’d have at least one and hopefully a few children by this age.

  The idea of superstardom had never even crossed his mind, never become a hope or a dream, until college. He started picking guitar with a couple other guys in his dorm room, they got a drummer, a keyboard player, and somehow made a demo tape. Now, here he was. Adored by millions, but privately alone and feeling so lonesome.

  Bobby Kent had the blood of his Savior. The gift of eternal life awaited him one day. He had fame, fortune, and the adoration of hundreds of thousands of loyal fans. In the dark quiet of his hotel room, he wondered, had God made a woman especially for him? Had God made Bobby to be the perfect mate for his future wife? When would he meet her? Had he already met her and blown it?

  After finishing a concert tour like this one, he should be able to celebrate with someone, confide in someone, talk with someone, relax and laugh and tease someone. He couldn’t celebrate like that with his fans because they didn’t really see the man he was, only the singing icon they imagined him to be. Women he had never met in his life often proposed marriage within minutes of conversation. His fan mail averaged 40 marriage proposals per week. The letters that made his heart ache started with, “When I get out of prison…” But in spite of that, he still didn’t have what he wanted most in this life, what he needed.

  Bobby Kent was alone.

  That feeling of lonesomeness led to nearly overwhelming homesickness. Making a quick decision, he called down to the concierge and asked her to secure him a rental car right away. He had just played a full house in Raleigh, North Carolina, less than a three hour drive from Richmond, Virginia. He and his parents hadn’t planned on him visiting until later this summer, but he suddenly felt a strong desire to see them. He wanted to get back to his roots, to relax on the ranch while he worked the horses, watched some sunsets, and ate his mother’s cooking.

  Within a few minutes, the telephone in his room rang and the clerk told him that his car would be delivered by five in the morning. He thanked her, then laid back down and shut his eyes. His mind made up, he could finally relax. He set an alarm on his phone, said a quick prayer, and closed his eyes.

  BOBBY Kent left a message for his manager, Gary, to let him know where he’d gone, grabbed his already packed overnight bag and his guitar and fiddle cases, then headed downstairs. Room service had delivered his breakfast earlier and he had shoveled it down and topped it with three cups of coffee. It was a little past five o’clock, and no one was in the lobby except for the clerk and a bored bellman, so he was out of the hotel and driving away into the Carolina predawn darkness within seconds.

  He passed an occasional semi-truck, but other than that, he had the road to himself for the first half of the trip. He stuck to State Road One, heading north toward Interstate 85, and drove through rural northern North Carolina where his songs dominated the airwaves. As his rental car ate up the miles, the tension – and what others had diagnosed as fatigue – started to fade into the background. The predawn countryside revealed by the high beams started becoming more and more familiar. He rolled down the window as he crossed the Virginia state line on Interstate 85 and breathed in the smells of the countryside.

  In the nearly nine years since he’d started recording, and in the six years since he’d made it to the top, he’d never been home even once. There had been only a few breaks in all those years, and his parents had always wanted to come to wherever he was at the time. Somehow, his tour schedule had never allowed him any extended time in Richmond. Usually, he had to back-to-back double book Richmond and the nearby Army base at Fort Lee south of Petersburg, then double book the naval base at Norfolk followed immediately by a Washington D. C. show before heading on up into New England. By the time he played two double back-to-back shows, he was utterly exhausted and would just sleep in his hotel with the rest of his crew before leaving for the next show.

  His parents always visited him at the hotel or backstage at his Richmond concert, but he never even so much as saw the ranch in all that time. Perhaps that’s why his longing for home was so strong right now. He’d been gone too long. Way too long.

  Before he even knew it, he found himself turning onto the ranch road and drove through the gates just as the sun fully rose. He noticed the improvements that had been made over the years. While he hadn’t been there in person to actually work the horses, he felt a sense of prid
e that at least the money he had earned and sent to his parents had helped support this ranch where he grew up. It had been so near bankruptcy when he recorded his first album.

  He knew that was the number one reason why his parents had encouraged him so much when he told them he wanted to drop out of college after a recording company had responded to one of his demos. He left the University of Georgia in between his sophomore and junior year and drove his old pickup truck to Nashville, Tennessee. The first album had done nothing spectacular in the charts, but the money it made helped save the ranch.

  By then he’d caught the fever and stayed in Nashville, and a little over a year later, The Amarillo Swing came out with a bullet on the charts, climbed a few hops to number one, and stayed there for five straight months, nearly setting a record for the longest run in the number one spot. It helped that a line dance choreographed for the song became the latest fad, and his album of the same name went double platinum.

  He spotted the house through the trees and in the faint morning dusk he could see the lights on in the kitchen. Even on a Saturday, his mother would have risen before the sun, preparing coffee and breakfast, letting the smells slowly wake his father. Bobby smiled as he stopped the car and got out, leaving his bags for later. His mother was going to be really surprised to see him.

  Saturday, April 21st

  AS Carol gathered her purse and car keys, her work cell phone rang. She glanced at the number as she answered it. “Mitch,” Carol greeted as Lisa ran past her and through the front door.

  “Afternoon, counselor. Wanted to let you know we got the lab results back. I know you’ll have the original in your office Monday morning.”

  “Yeah. I have Lisa’s party this afternoon, so I very definitely will not be working today.”

  “Well, just so you know, she was drugged. She had enough sedative in her that it wouldn’t have mattered if the guy strangled her or not. She would have probably suffocated from the date-rape drug cocktail.”