by HJ Bellus
The sounds of his footsteps vanish and then the front door slams shut. Mom continues to cry.
“I am so proud of you, Mom.” I brush the tears away.
The emotion clogs my throat. “I hope to be half of the person you are one day.”
“Hart.” She peers up at me. “Will you hold me?”
I answer her by scooping her up in my arms, carrying her to her rocking chair. The same one she used to rock me in when I was a child. I settle in, reaching down for her blanket and then rock her.
“She’ll come back to you, Hart.”
“What, Mom?”
“Vannie will come back to you because I know you’ll go get her. Don’t let a love like I had with Samuel slip through your fingers.”
“She’s gone, Momma.”
“That girl loves you and has a damn good reason for running.”
I simply nod, not wanting to argue with her right now because the bitter poison in my heart from what Vannie did to me is dangerous.
“Want to read a book?” I ask her.
She nods and smiles. I reach down, picking up her Kindle and flipping through all the books we haven’t read.
“You want erotica, college, western romance?”
“You pick, son.” She reaches up holding onto my forearm. “Never lose your love of reading, escaping into a fantasy world. Discover the hope between each written word and live out your own story.”
I pull up a romance book we haven’t read yet and begin reading to her. I read until my eyes grow heavy. We’ve made it through sixty percent of the book. Mom fell asleep hours ago, but I continued to read, cherishing each moment of it, doing exactly what my momma told me to do. Find the hope.
When I doze off a time or two I set the Kindle down, kiss her forehead, and then tell her how much I love her and always will.
“And, Mom, when you meet Belle up there, tell that cocksucker hi for me.” The tears stream down my face until sleep takes over.
I dream about all those childhood memories my mom cherished. I see Belle, and we play in our backyard while waiting for mom to call us in for dinner. I feel the slap to the back of my head when I sneak cookie dough out of Mom’s mixing bowl. Finally, the sound of all three of our laughter is the last part of the dream.
Opening my eyes, I focus in on Peaches who’s on the couch crying and the home nurse sitting next to her holding her. I know. I know before even looking down at my mother that she’s gone home to meet Belle.
My entire world is swallowed whole. When I look down to my mom’s peaceful face, I lose it for the first time. The roar that comes out of my mouth is deafening, and it takes me long beats to realize it’s coming from me. I hold her to my chest, crying and yelling out the hurt drowning me.
“She always loved her hair done like this.” Peaches gives the wig on my mother’s head one more fluff. “I swear when we were younger that woman would rat her hair so high I thought it would fall out one day.”
My aunt steps back with tears slowly streaming down her face. They quickly turn into a downpour. I wrap her up in my arms and hold her for a long time. We knew this was going to be the hardest day of all, but we were determined to have Momma perfect before she was buried.
The staff at the funeral home has been accommodating us with our final wishes. Mom made it easy with us picking out her outfit and jewelry. I made sure it was all on her, even her friendship necklace that she shares with Vannie. Out of all her family heirlooms and favorite pieces, she was very persistent about that piece.
Peaches had to put it on her and adjust it on her chest because the metal burned the pad of my fingers.
“She’s perfect,” Peaches mumbles into my chest.
“She is.”
We stand there holding each other and cry for a long time until we’re both ready to walk away. We hold each other up each step of the funeral. Peaches will never know she’s my rock through this whole process.
We make our way upstairs and are stopped by one of the staff members.
“There’s been a new delivery of flowers. Here are the cards that were attached.” She extends a thick stack of cards to me.
I take them, thanking her and then head out to my car. Tomorrow is going to come all too soon.
21
Hart
The house is empty, my soul lonely, but the whiskey comforting and my best friend. Days float by blurring into each other. Peaches has caught on to my drinking problem and took all the whiskey from the house.
This morning is the first in a month since my mom passed away that it is 10 a.m., and I’m sober. The dining room table is stacked high with bills, sympathy cards, and floral arrangement cards. I grab a handful of Twinkies and sit down knowing at some time this mountain of shit on the table needs to be dealt with.
My fingers are greasy from the spongy treat as I sort out bills with Peaches’ name and then the cards from Mom’s funeral. I begin reading each card and then tossing them in the bin. The woman was loved, but that’s no surprise to me.
The final card I open makes me ill. My vision flicks to the bottom of the card, “Arena 55”.
Dear Hart,
We sure were sad to hear about your mother. Just know everything happens for a reason. Savannah sure is a hit here at our studio. She made the right choice. Never thought she’d choose me over you.
Blake Patton
Arena 55
The doorbell rings. It takes me a long time to answer it. When I finally open the door, a young woman is walking back to her car.
“Hey.”
She whirls around flustered. “Um, I work at the hospital. I was given this the last time your mother was brought in. I was supposed to give it to you, but everything got crazy that night. I know this is unprofessional, but it’s been bothering me.”
She hands me an envelope and Vannie’s phone. Then waits for my response. The smooth feel of the plastic case rolls around in my palm.
“Thank you.” I shut the door.
Vannie’s phone is shut off. I tear open the envelope then fall to my knees.
Whiskey is now a long lost friend with the passionate anger flowing through my veins. There’s a hidden message between the lines. Realization dawns on me on the tenth read through. My mom’s message rings loud in my ears.
I’m up and on my feet before I even think twice about it. My tires screech outside the recording studio. Must be my lucky day because after bursting into the front doors, I collide with Blake’s chest. There are a few moments of chaos before we come eye to eye. Blake steps back and barks some orders out to the security guards near the door.
“What in the fuck did you do to her?” I yell, not even caring as my voice echoes around the studio.
I chalk it up to the pent-up feelings of hurt and rage since the day Vannie walked out of my life. I had to keep it curbed, focusing on my mom and then when she passed the grief was too overwhelming. The infection of loss is now seeping out, spilling everywhere.
Blake has the fucking nerve to smile at me. I rear my fist back, but the security guards are quick on their feet, reaching me before I can strike. Blake leans in and whispers in my ear, so only I hear him.
“Gave her an ultimatum. Sign or I’d quit paying your mom’s hospital bills. See, your dad is on my payroll. He was caught sniffing too close to me about Belle’s death.”
“You motherfucker.” I kick and fight to break free.
The two security guards are too powerful and they dump me on my ass out on the sidewalk. If this motherfucker thinks having me thrown out will stop me, he’s a fool. I wait in my car until I spot him leaving the building hours later then tail his car. He drives straight to The Shade Tree. How fucking quaint to have a rematch of our previous fist fight. I’m at his driver’s door before he fully stands up. I catch him unaware, ripping him up by the lapels of his dress coat. His back slams back into the fancy sports car.
I spit in his face. “I want motherfucking answers now.”
“Hart, when will y
ou ever realize you’re the underdog in a losing battle?”
“Where is she?” I growl.
“On tour under contract. You’ll never find her.”
“You bet your fucking ass I will. You don’t understand the danger you’ve put her in.”
“Dollar signs are dollar signs.”
His last comment makes my knuckles thirsty and I relieve that quench with one sharp, grueling punch to his jaw.
“Where is she?”
He becomes a bit smarter not answering me. I ask question after question with my fist connecting with his pretty face. After the tenth punch, Blake is ready to speak up.
“She’s in Atlanta at the Georgia Dome for the weekend on the Dirt Roads tour.”
I punch him again for good measure. “Advance notice, fucker, her contract is null and void.”
I throw him to the ground. Blake is one tough motherfucker. He looks up at me and smiles through the blood flowing out of his mouth. “Not only are you an underdog, but fucking dumb. For every one of your actions, there’s a consequence, Hart. Dead sister, losing your girlfriend. When will you ever learn?”
And I lose all sense of control. I see an inferno of red burning behind my eyelids. He’s the terrorist, and it’s my job to protect my homeland. When I’m done with him, Blake is unconscious and unable to say a word.
I punch in the address for the Georgia Dome on my phone and drive. The three and half-hour drive is made in three hours. After finding a parking spot, I realize my fatal mistake…no ticket to enter. Fuck, even if I did get in, how in the hell am I going to get to her?
“Fuck.” I grip my hair and pull it.
“Sir, do you need help?” an event staff member in a neon green vests asks.
It takes me a bit, figuring out to tell her what I’m doing without coming across like a stalker. “Who is playing here tonight?”
She rattles off all the singers and bands. All fucking men.
“So, there’s not a Savannah Ray here tonight.”
The woman is kind adjusting her vest. “Sir, I’m one of the biggest country fans around and follow everything Arena 55 Studios, never heard of a Savannah Ray.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, scrubbing my face.
“Yes, sir.” She pauses. “Do you need to see a doctor?”
Stalker alert on high mode.
“No, thanks.” I turn and walk back to my car to let her get back to her job at hand.
“Sir,” she hollers out.
I turn back to her.
Her voice is raised due to our ten-foot distance. “Would you happen to be talking about a Shaynee Ryder?”
I shake my head. “Naw, but thank you.”
I slump down in the seat of my car behind the wheel. One thing life has taught me was to never trust anyone. It was my first fatal mistake trusting Blake to give me the truth. Pulling out my phone, I notice I only have ten percent left on my battery, but I pull up Safari and search tonight’s venue. It takes a bit to load. But she was right, it’s an all-male line-up tonight.
“Fuck.” I pound the steering wheel in frustration. “Where does he have her?”
Defeat this powerful and deadly has never hit me so hard. She’s gone. The girl knows how to run and exactly how to hide in the shadows. I’ve lost her.
I thought I was shattered when she left me, then Mom passed away, but now, knowing she sacrificed it all to help my momma out is a jagged dagger straight to my heart.
There are two more tours listed on Arena 55’s page. The other one is back in Tennessee. It’s my only hope. Even though I need sleep, food, and to piss it doesn’t matter. None of it does. I have to get to her before she’s hurt. The thought of all those greedy foster parents coming forward or even worse, her father, makes me want to vomit.
The miles tick by and where the lonely highway has always been a solace to my wandering soul, it’s the opposite now. It’s just a cruel reminder. There’s no comfort on this road trip just the brutal reminder of all my losses. The world is cruel.
My phone rings three hours into the road trip. The number is unknown and I’m sure it is Blake gloating about the wild goose chase he’s sent me on.
“Speak up, motherfucker.”
“Hart.” The voice on the other end is nervous and certainly not Blake.
“Yeah. Who is this?”
“Your dad.” There’s a pungent pause. “Don’t hang up. It’s about Vannie.”
“Talk,” I growl.
“Blake’s been playing you. She’s in Montana at the state fair. She sings under the name Shaynee Ryder.”
Again, not assuming this dickhead is giving me the truth. “Why in the fuck would you tell me this?”
“Hart, I work for him.”
“Yeah, big fucking deal. Evil magnetizes to evil,” I spit out.
“He killed Belle. She was pregnant with his child. After you and your mother had left I got sober and was on a mission to find her killer. I got too close, and Blake blackmailed me. He knew your momma was battling cancer and that the bills were piling up. He paid them, and I remained quiet, working for him for free. He has her Hart, and you need to get her. He played the same fucking mind games on her as he did me. Montana State Fair. Shaynee Ryder.”
“Got it.” I hit the red end button before he speaks another word.
I don’t throw my cell phone down, but dial one of my best friends. My band of brothers who always has my six. It rings two times.
“Hey, dickhead.”
I hear Gracie in the background harassing Cub for his language, but there’s no time to stop and enjoy the banter.
“Cub, I need you.”
The background noise silences and I know he’s gone somewhere giving me his full attention. “I’m here, brother.”
“I’m in love.” The words spill from my mouth. “It’s a long story, but I need you to get to the state fair and to Shaynee Ryder. She’s performing there. She’s in trouble. You need to get to her.”
“Take a breath, Hart. I’m here for you. Need more details.”
I fill him in the best I can driving like a maniac to the fucking airport.
His deep voice fills the line. “Got it, brother. I’m going to give the phone to Izzy. Listen to her voice and focus, okay? I’ll call Guy on Gracie’s phone. We’ve got you.”
There’s no goodbye. Just a sweet little voice filling the other end. It’s the complete opposite of her dad’s.
“Uncle,” she squeals.
“Hey, baby girl.”
“I’m not a baby. I’m an adult.”
“My mistake.”
Her sweet chatter keeps me grounded all the way until I arrive at the airport. She chatters about princesses and unicorns. I reach back into the back seat and grab the doll holding onto the only solid thing I know.
22
Savannah Ray
“You’re up in ten minutes. Get your ass out here.” Lenny’s voice vibrates off the bathroom door in the RV.
“Be there in a second.”
Just those few words cause me to wretch in the toilet. It’s mainly dry heaves mixed with bile. I can keep nothing down and I know it’s nerves. I haven’t been able to keep anything down lately. Everything has been turned upside down since I signed my fake name on that line and left the only people who actually loved me.
“Now,” Lenny screams, followed by pounding on the door.
“Okay…”
That one word does it, everything inside of me pours into the toilet I’m bent over. I will never eat another salad in my entire life. Fuck lettuce. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and then reach over and unlock the door. Lenny marches in, in her true fashion. Hands on her hip with disapproval clearly written on her face.
“Jesus, Shaynee, when are you going to quit this poor girl act?” Lenny digs around in her black leather purse. pulling out an orange bottle.
“I’m sorry.”
She slams three pills down on the counter. “Want to know who is not sorry? The fucking f
ans out there who’ve spent good money to see the rising star in country music. Take these and get your ass out here.”
She slams the door. I swear I hear the hinges rattling, threatening to fall off the fake wall. The pills on the counter silently yet so loudly scream my name. Lenny claims they’ll solve all my problems, but something is off.
I pick them up like always, rolling them in my palm. But what if they do help me? Take away the pain and sickness, and I move on. A window of time floats by with my decisions whirling in my mind. Thought after thought drifts by…what if they take me back to Hart?
I repeat the same action I’ve always done and let the three white pills sink down the drain. I adjust the tight fitting bra, crazy-ass new hair, and even brush the bags under my eyes. Megan will work her magic on my make-up, so no worries there.
I swing the door open and mad dog Lenny is there tapping the pointed tip of her high heel. Once she sees me, her response is to trot off the bus, and like the hopeless puppy I am, I follow her. The dull roar from the crowd making their way to their seats fills the air and then it’s radio DJ entertaining them.
It’s a rote action. I know the songs I’m demanded to sing and then half of the one original one I wrote. I should’ve made a stand when signing the contract, but Maria’s face was all that controlled the moment, and I’ll never regret that.
I hate the environment, despite the crowd, and even have come to hate singing. It’s all a show and nothing about my soul. I hate all of it to the point of puking and making myself sick.
The make-up is caked on and my wild mane fixed up into a faux hawk. The short leather shorts exposing my legs with skintight top. It’s nothing I liked, but what I’m forced to wear on the stage night after night.
Sound guys surround me while I adjust my guitar in front of me. It’s just a prop because I never really get to play it. A video portraying a small town girl plays before my entrance then I waltz on stage, rip the guitar off and then belt out the songs I’ve learned to hate. Despising music has killed my soul.