“Well, I’ll be damned!” he says, breaking the thick silence, “Trent Parker! This certainly is a treat.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I tell him, holding my ground in the doorway.
“I was just telling Ellie that I’ve been seeing a lot of news about you two lately,” he continues, picking himself up off the couch. He extends his hand toward me, and I have a powerful urge to twist it up behind his back and send him flying through the window. But I restrain myself. That’s not what Ellie would want.
“Mr. Jackson,” I say, as evenly as I can, “Ellie doesn’t want you here. She doesn’t want you in her life, and I would appreciate it if you’d leave.”
“Well,” the man says, his hand still suspended in the air, “I don’t think that she needs you to fight her battles for her, am I right?”
“I’m not fighting her battle,” I tell him, “I’m just the cavalry.”
“Trent,” he says, crossing the room, “You can’t blame a father for wanting to reconnect with the family he was so unfortunately separated from!”
“No,” I say, “But I can blame a father for abandoning his children, only to come sniffing around when there’s a suddenly a buck to be made. I’ve been around this particular block myself, Mr. Jackson. And I’m going to tell you the same thing I’ve told every asshole who’s come out of the woodwork looking for a piece of me—you can take your phony affection and shove it so far up your ass that you won’t be able to shit it out for a week. Now, why don’t you do me a favor and get the hell out of this house?”
“You have no right to talk to me like that,” he says, his brow furrowing, “This is not your house to command, young man.”
“It’s not yours either,” Ellie says.
“The hell it isn’t!” he shouts back, “Your mother stashed away the money for this place while she was living on my dime! None of you would have anything if it wasn’t for me. I brought you girls into this world with a drawer of silver spoons waiting for you. And how did you all repay me? By running off and living like rutting pigs, making a damn fool out of me! You’re all a bunch of ungrateful, selfish, mean little bitches. I deserve a cut of whatever this one is pulling in. It’s my right as a father. And I’m not leaving here until I’ve—AHHH!”
I slam the man’s shoulders hard into the hardwood floor, pinning him beneath me. He struggles to free himself, but he’s no match for me. I cock back my fist, wanting nothing more than to break that stupid face of his in two.
“Apologize!” I shout in his flushed face.
“Trent!” Ellie cries, “Don’t hurt him! It’s not worth it.”
“Go ahead,” he sneers up at me, “Hit me! Do some good damage. I’ll slap you with the biggest lawsuit you’ve ever seen.”
“You’re pathetic,” I snarl, “You’re a sad, washed-up bully who doesn’t deserve your daughter’s time of day. I hope you know how outrageously depressing it is to have to humiliate you in front of your family. Former family. Now, I’m going to tell you one more time. Get out of here. Now, before I make that lawsuit worth it.”
I push him out from under me with the heel of my foot, and he scrambles up to standing. His face is beet red from the embarrassment and exertion, and he glares around the room at all of us.
“This isn’t over,” he says, pointing a finger at my chest.
“It had better be,” I tell him, “Ellie might not be around to talk sense into me the next time you show up acting like an asshole.”
“Stay away from us,” Ellie’s mother says.
“For good,” her sister puts in.
“You blew it a long time ago, Dad,” Ellie says, “Don’t make it worse for everyone.”
He looks around at all of us once more, the full scope of his impotence finally occurring to him.
Without another word, he turns his back and crosses to the door, slamming it hard behind him. The four of us who remain stand still, listening as his footsteps ring out across the porch, down to the driveway. A car engine roars to life, and the sound of pealing tires signals his final departure. For a minute, we’re all too stunned to speak.
I look around at the three women, at a loss for words. I haven’t done the whole “meet the family” thing in many years, but this hardly seems like the conventional way to go about it.
“So...” Ellie says, “Um...I guess I should introduce you guys?”
“I’m Trent,” I say dumbly, “But I guess you know that...”
“I promise that our home isn’t always so...dramatic,” Ellie’s mom says.
“Not unless your students are rehearsing,” Ellie replies with a smile.
“I’m Kate,” says the young woman in scrubs, “Ellie’s sister. This is our mom. Of course. Um...Welcome to our home?”
“It’s actually very nice to meet you,” I tell them, “Regardless of the terms.”
“No need to worry,” Ellie’s mom says, “We’re not really a typical family. No use trying to keep up with normative rituals.”
“Right,” I say.
“So. What exactly are you doing here, Trent?” Kate asks, cocking an eyebrow. “Barton doesn’t really seem like your scene, based on the latest pictorial evidence. I think some of the high school kids may be able to hook you up with some drugs, but other than that—”
“Kate!” Ellie hisses.
“I’m sorry if I’ve given the impression of being irresponsible. Or disinterested, or...Really any other horrible thing you’re probably thinking about me,” I say, “I just...I couldn’t let Ellie just disappear without trying to make things right. So. I guess. That’s what I’m doing here.”
“And Ellie,” Kate continues, crossing her arms, “Are things right, now?”
“Kate, give it a rest. After Dad’s guest appearance—”
“I was just asking,” she says.
“I think we could all stand to cool down for a minute,” their mother says, “Anyone want a beer? We could order pizza! Trent, do you eat pizza?”
“That’s very nice of you,” I say, ignoring the absurdity of the suggestion, “But the thing is, I really need to get back to Kansas. I have another show to play at the festival. And so does Ellie, if I’m remembering correctly.”
“I don’t have an act anymore,” Ellie says sadly.
“We can figure that out along the way,” I tell her earnestly, “But I’ve got a cab idling outside, and a jet waiting to take us back.”
“A jet? Good grief,” Kate snorts.
“Will you come back with me?” I ask Ellie, taking her hands in mine. She looks around at her mom and sister, weighing her options.
“Trent...this whole thing is so huge,” she says, “I don’t know whether or not I can handle being a famous musician. It’s hardly been a week, and people are already trying to tear me down.”
“There will always be people trying to tear you down in life,” I tell her, “That’s the story every time. Whether you’re a rock star, or a school teacher, or a college student in Boston, the world will always be pushing you to the edge. But Ellie—you can handle it. You were born for it. You know as well as I do that music is your life, what you have to offer the world. I know you’re scared, but it’s going to be OK. I’ll help you. I promise.”
She takes a deep breath and holds it.
My entire body is tensed in anticipation. I’ve never been more keenly aware of needing someone as much as I need her.
“OK,” she says finally, “Let’s do this thing.”
Chapter Sixteen
“I can’t believe this is our ride,” I breathe, as we make our way toward Trent’s private jet.
The plane is waiting for us in the middle of a tiny local airport, looking as out of place as my rock star escort in my little hometown.
Seeing Trent here in Barton is as surreal as anything that’s happened to me in the past week. Watching this incredibly famous person stride through the front door of my childhood home and meet my family finally forced me to accept that whatev
er crazy ride I’m on right now is real and true. As insane as this all is, I’d do well to sit back and enjoy it.
Trent offers his hand to me and helps me up the stairs into the plane. “What, are you telling me you’ve never flown in a private jet before?" He says with a grin, "Gee, how the other half lives...”
“Well, maybe in a couple of years, when I’m the most famous leftover half of a folk duo America has ever seen, I’ll be able to get myself one of these puppies,” I say, stepping into the jet.
“Dream big, babe,” Trent replies as the door closes behind us, “Dream big.”
I look around the inside of the plane, shaking my head in wonder. I’ve been so continually floored by every extravagant detail of Trent’s life that I’m out of words for my amazement. The jet is even fancier than the tour bus, with deep, cushy seats lining the windows, a big screen TV, a built-in bar, and door leading back to more private rooms.
“I’m assuming that the Jacuzzi is back there?” I say, gesturing toward the rear of the plane.
“Ah,” Trent says, “We had to remove the Jacuzzi when we put in the laser tag arena. My apologies.”
“I suppose this will have to do then,” I sigh dramatically.
“You’re too kind,” Trent says, taking my hand in his. A crackle of excitement skirts up my arm, even at this slight touch. It’s like my body is hardwired to respond to Trent’s every move.
So much happened so quickly after we spent that night together that my body’s had no time to come down from the high of sleeping with Trent. I feel like I’ve been suspended in this state of hyper-awareness and sensitivity, just waiting until we could be together again.
I thought that giving myself up to my desire would sate my need for a while, but if anything it’s only gotten more intense, now that I know what it’s like to be with Trent that way.
I grasp his fingers just a little tighter, wondering if he’s feeling the same way. If his flying after me despite my behavior is any indication, we might just be on the same page.
“Come on,” he says, pulling on my hand, “You’ve got to sit down for takeoff.”
I allow myself to be towed over into an enormous plushy chair. Trent is kind enough to give me the window seat, since this whole thing is still novel for me. I can’t help but be as excited as a little kid as the plane roars to life. I haven’t been on a plane for years—not since our trip to the Grand Canyon when I was fifteen. I can’t imagine a life where flying across the country wouldn’t be thrilling, but that’s Trent's day to day.
“How quickly do you get used to all of this?” I ask, as the jet rolls around toward the runway.
“Honestly?” he says, “Far too quickly.”
We pick up speed, and I grab onto Trent’s arm as the jet lifts off. My hometown falls away beneath us, shrinking down to the size of a kid’s block city in no time at all. The place looks so insignificant from up here—just another woodsy corner of the country with nothing spectacular about it. But maybe being a little unremarkable isn’t such a bad thing.
My nose is practically pressed up against the window as we sail through the dusky sky. My race home took up most of the day, so we’ll be enjoying the view of the darkened world as we fly back to the festival. Bright lights dot the landscape below us, clustering around town centers and bigger cities than mine. Soon, they’ll give way to huge swathes of black as we fly over the plains and mountains.
“Night flights are the best,” Trent tells me, peering around me through the window. “You really feel like you’re in a world apart.”
“You must always feel that way,” I say, turning to face him.
“True,” he says, standing up from his seat, “But when you think about it, doesn’t everyone?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well, everyone’s reality is a bit unique,” he says, crossing to the bar and taking two glasses down from the rack, “Mine just happens to be unique in a terribly specific way.”
“That’s one way of spinning it,” I say, going to join him.
“It makes me feel less lonely, to think of it that way,” he tells me, “Let me have my coping mechanisms, would you?”
“They’re all yours,” I smile.
“Thank you,” he says, “Now, for the much more important question...Would you like whiskey or vodka, and how much?”
“Whiskey,” I answer, “And I’ll let you decide how much.”
“Very well,” he says, pouring two generous splashes of booze into our waiting glasses. He hands me my drink—the smoky scent of the fine booze is a welcome relief after the day I’ve had. I raise my glass to him, trying to formulate a toast to encompass everything I’m feeling.
“...To you,” I say finally. It’s the only thing there is to say. “Thank you, Trent.”
“For what?” he asks, clinking his glass against mine and taking a sip.
“For...everything,” I say simply, “Everything that’s happened. Everything that might happen.”
“I’ll gladly drink to that,” he says with a smile.
We raise our glasses to our lips, eyeing each other across the bar. Those green eyes of Trent’s bore right through me, rendering every defense useless. There’s no hiding anything from him, that much I know for a fact.
There’s something shared between us that can’t be ignored or set aside. It’s a level of understanding that I’ve never felt with anyone else. I don’t need to put words to it—it’s far more intuitive than that. Even though our lives have been completely different, it’s as though we’re occupying the same little sliver of reality. I don’t understand it, but I feel it wholly.
“I’m so sorry you had to see that little family drama,” I tell him, perching myself on a bar stool, “That’s really not how we are, usually.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he says, leaning into the bar. The muscles in his arms glide and ripple beautifully as he rests his weight on them, and I’m so distracted by them that I almost don’t hear what he’s telling me. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t exactly have a stellar relationship with my father, either.”
“Really?” I ask. I know so little about Trent’s life before stardom that I’m instantly intrigued.
“Really,” he says, “I mean...it’s nothing scandalous. I don’t want you to think I’m belittling what you and your family have gone through. I don’t have any cause to complain about my own family. We were pretty functional, overall.”
“But...?” I prompt.
“But...You know. My parents and brothers aren’t exactly artistically-minded. They’ve always been perfectly content to lead average, run-of-the-mill lives. My parents have been in the same tiny house for decades, my brothers all went out an found honest nine-to-five jobs. I’m the only one who really strayed from that path.”
“Well, they must be impressed by everything you’ve done,” I say, “I mean, you’re one of the best rock musicians in the world. They have to appreciate that kind of excellence, right?”
“You’d think that,” he says, taking another sip of whiskey, “But I’m afraid that’s not really the case.”
“Well, the money must help a little, right?” I say, trying to lighten things up.
A pained expression crosses Trent’s face. “No. No, my family’s never accepted a dime from me. They don’t really think of it as honest money, to tell you the truth. I suppose they’re glad that I’ve done well for myself, but they don’t respect my success. They don’t understand the drive to create, and to share what you’ve made with the rest of the world. They’ve never understood that part of me because they can’t comprehend it. It’s not something I can make them experience with me.”
“That must be so hard,” I say.
“It’s gotten easier,” he tells me, glancing out the window at the nearly black sky, “When I first started playing music, I thought it would be something that my family could appreciate. I think if it had stayed a hobby, something I did after work and on the w
eekends, they would have been a lot more receptive. But once I started centering my life around playing my guitar, they started to disapprove.
They didn’t think it was responsible, or fair. My brothers were all off working crappy, thankless jobs while I moved out to California to be a musician. Even once I started getting noticed, they thought it was a fluke. As though I hadn’t earned it. Regardless of the fact that I’ve been working for this for over a decade.
It’s pretty shitty to know that there is absolutely nothing I can do to impress them, or make them respect my work. And my dad’s the worst of all...”
He looks up at me, catching himself mid-rant. His features rearrange themselves, and the anger subsides just a bit. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I don’t mean to go off on you. I guess I’ve never said any of this out loud before...”
I reach for him, laying my hand on his forearm. “It’s OK,” I tell him, “Thank you for talking to me about it. I was starting to feel like I was the only one with a less than perfect home life.”
“That’s the thing though,” he says, frowning, “There’s nothing about my family that’s messed up, necessarily. I was loved as a kid, and fed, and cared for...So why isn’t it enough? Why do I also have to feel validated by them?”
“I don’t know why, Trent,” I tell him, “But I can tell you, from personal experience, that the feeling isn’t imaginary. I know what it’s like to feel like there’s nothing you can do to make yourself feel at home, and wanted, and loved as yourself. The only time I’ve ever felt understood and accepted for who I am was...is...Well, to be perfectly honest, it’s when I’m talking to you.”
He lifts his brilliant green eyes to mine, and a new shade shines through—it looks to me like hope. Trent reaches across the bar and tucks a loose lock of blonde hair behind my ear, letting his fingers brush against the skin of my cheek.
All of a sudden, he actually looks his age. Looking at me, Trent’s world-weary rock star mask falls away. He’s all youthful hope, and earnestness, and intent concentration. But there’s something else in his gaze too...something that sets my knees to trembling. I can see that he’s been waiting, too—brought to life by being with me and waiting to feel that connection once again.
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