“I’m serious. How do they not know that all these interviews and extra performances are shit on your voice?”
I decide not to mention that my dad told me just yesterday that my hoarseness improves the natural rasp of my singing voice.
“You could finally pass for a blues singer, Dalt,” Dad said, then he laughed and slapped my shoulder as if it was a big joke. I don’t tell Levi that because it would just piss him off, and there’s no point in both of us acting like whiny bastards. I had that one covered all on my own lately.
“You still not sleeping real good?” he asks.
I look up, wondering how he knows that.
He shrugs, unabashed. “I’m in the bunk right over yours, dude. You think I don’t hear you getting up all the time?”
I scowl. The illusion of privacy is just that—an illusion. “No, I’m not sleeping much.”
“You need to sleep, Dalt. Being tired can’t be helping you.”
“I don’t wake up on purpose, Levi. It’s kind of beyond my control.”
“We could get you something,” he says softly, “to help you sleep.”
I glance up at him sharply. We have one iron-clad, long-standing rule in this band—no drugs. My dad looks the other way when we party after shows, even with Lennon and me being underage, as long as we stick to alcohol. Anything beyond that is a strict no, and we’ve all agreed. We’re not going to end up like so many other musicians.
Levi looks slightly embarrassed. “I’m talking about from a doctor, dude. A prescription for sleeping pills, that’s all. No biggie.”
“Right. Because depending on a pill for essential functioning has never turned into a bad thing for anyone in my profession.”
He holds up his hands. “Fine. It was just a suggestion. But you do need to sleep more. I’m going to talk to your brothers. Maybe if we all approach your dad together, he’ll get that your next day off needs to be an actual day off.”
I shrug, slumping back into the pillows of the couch. “If you wanna try.”
“You should come up front, man,” he says. “Hang out with us for a while.”
“Nah. Thanks.” I can perfectly picture the front lounge. Someone will have invited some girls from the show to join in on the drinking and partying. I’m not in the mood.
Levi gestures at the TV over my head. “Wanna play some Halo?”
I shake my head. “Go ahead, man. I’m fine.”
He watches me for another moment, as if he thinks he can’t trust me. I return my attention to my phone, not really caring if I’m being rude. I just don’t want any company right now.
After a beat, he stands. “We’ll be there in a few.”
I nod absently, clicking on the email button. A long line of band-related subject lines fill the screen. I rarely get personal emails. Who would send them? I haven’t kept in touch with anyone from school, and my friends have generally consisted of the people on this bus, with that one important exception.
But then my eyes land on an unfamiliar address. [email protected]. The subject line just says Hello. It’s probably spam. Or maybe fan mail. So why does my heart start to beat so fast? The seemingly random letters in the address are somehow familiar.
I touch the screen to open the email. I scan the first lines quickly, and my heart feels as though it’s going to beat right out of my chest.
Daisy.
Chapter Eight
Daisy
When I finally click Send, I feel sick to my stomach. I spent about two hours writing the thing, trying desperately to strike the right tone between apologetic and friendly. And normal. That’s pretty important, too, that he not be able to tell right away what a freak I’ve become.
I had another session with Dr. Jacobs today. I told her about my conversation with Paige and what I was thinking about doing. She was very encouraging and talked me through several possible outcomes. I came home feeling optimistic and resolved, but now that the thing is written, I just feel ill.
Dr. Jacobs reminded me that there was a chance he wouldn’t be using the same email address anymore. His life has changed tremendously since the last time I heard from him on this old account.
I close my eyes and wish that it would be true. I’m already regretting sending it. The idea that he might never read it makes me feel better.
I get up and head to the table, planning to do some homework to take my mind off of it. Yeah, right. Within minutes, I’m back at the laptop, reading my words for the twentieth time.
Dear Daltrey,
I hope this email finds you well.
That sounds stupid and formal, doesn’t it? But I don’t really know how else to start. It’s been so long since we’ve talked, which I know is completely my fault. Maybe we could just pretend that we have all the stupid politeness and formality out of the way. Would that be all right? Then I can just come out and tell you what I want to say.
What I want to say is this: I am so, so sorry that I dropped off the face of the earth. Please know that you did absolutely nothing wrong. God, I hope you haven’t been thinking it’s your fault. Don’t ever think that, okay? I was going through some stuff, but it honestly had nothing to do with you. I hope I didn’t hurt you.
I’ve been trying really hard to deal with the aforementioned “stuff” better. I won’t bore you with all the details. But I do hope you’ll accept my apology for being such a shitty friend. If you don’t want to, that’s okay. If you’re pissed at me, I completely understand. I deserve it.
If you’re not pissed—no, scratch that, even if you are pissed—I’d really like to hear from you. I don’t have your number anymore, or I would have called to apologize. If you want to talk, even if it’s just to tell me how terrible I am, please call me. My new number is down at the bottom.
I’m so proud of you, Dalt. Please know that. There hasn’t been a day that’s passed that I haven’t thought of you and been so thankful that you’re living your dream. Congratulations, from the very bottom of my heart.
Love,
Daisy.
I deleted and rewrote the word “love” about a dozen times before I finally decided to keep it. Now I’m regretting that decision. And what was that whole thing at the beginning about being formal? God, I did sound like a freak. That was such a bad idea.
I go back to my books, wishing with all my heart that he won’t read it. Maybe the next time I check, the email will have been sent back to me, the address undeliverable. I open my econ book. I’ve really gotten behind with my schoolwork since I met Paige, between hanging out with her and Karen and dealing with the ensuing emotional breakdown. I really need to buckle down and—
My phone rings. I’ve become conditioned to fear ringing phones since last spring, but tonight, my fear is for a totally different reason. I check Caller ID: Unknown Number.
Oh, God. What if it’s him? I glance at the clock on the microwave. It’s eleven o’clock, far too late for it to be my dad—not that he’d call from an unfamiliar number anyway. The phone rings again, and I answer it in a panic. If it’s Daltrey, I can’t risk letting it go to voicemail. I did that far too often last spring when I was ignoring his calls.
“Hello?” My voice sounds strange, strained and breathy. Would he even recognize it?
“Daisy?”
Something in my chest seems to melt and expand at his voice. It’s been so long since I’ve heard it, even over the phone, that I feel like crying, as though I’ve come home after a long trip. “Hi,” I squeak out. I clear my throat and try again. “Hi, Daltrey. It’s… it’s good to hear your voice.”
“You hope you didn’t hurt me?” he barks, clearly angry.
The melty thing in my chest hardens. “What?”
“I’m reading this email. You hope you didn’t hurt me?”
“I… yeah. I mean, I hope I… I’m sorry, Daltrey.”
“You didn’t hurt me, Daisy, because hurt doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
I bring a shaking hand to my forehead. I knew anger was a pro
bability, but it still sucks to have our first words in so long be shouted. “I’m really, really—”
“Don’t you say you’re sorry again. You have no idea what that felt like. My best friend just suddenly stops taking my calls. Stops answering my emails. Stops talking to me completely. How could you do that?”
Because my heart was breaking. Because my entire world was falling apart, and I didn’t want to ruin the best thing that ever happened to you. “I was going through some stuff, Daltrey. That doesn’t excuse my behavior—”
“You’re damn right it doesn’t. What you did was inexcusable. I needed you, Daisy. Everything was changing, and I was going through all of this shit, and you were just gone—with no explanation. What kind of a person does that?”
A few months ago, I would have wilted under his anger, certain I deserved it, that his feelings were more valid than mine. But some of the things Dr. Jacobs has been telling me for the past few months are finally starting to sink in. I am stronger than I used to be. And though he does have a right to be angry at me, he doesn’t know the whole story. He doesn’t know what I’ve been through.
No one else is entitled to judge your experience or your journey. “I know that you’re mad, Daltrey.” I try to keep my voice as calm as possible. “You have every right to be. But you also knew me better than just about anyone else in the world. So I hope you understand that if I did something like that, something so unlike me, it must have been for a pretty damn good reason.”
He’s silent for a long time. Finally, he sighs. “Will you tell me what it is?”
“I can’t.” The words come automatically, but they are true. There is no way I can explain, not right now. He starts to say something, sounding angry again, but I cut him off. “But I’d really like to be able to one day.”
He’s quiet again. “And I just have to accept that, huh?”
“No. You could decide you’re too mad to talk to me. I would deserve that, and it would be something that I would just have to accept.”
The silence is much longer this time. Just when I figure he’s going to hang up, he clears his throat. “I don’t want to be angry, Daisy. I want to talk to you.”
I release a relieved breath. Thank God. “I’m glad.”
“So, uh… what’s new?”
I laugh, the tension broken. “Not a whole lot. I’m in school, but not OSU.”
“Really? Your dad was cool with that?”
My dad wouldn’t have let me go to OSU if I went crazy and decided I wanted to. “Yeah, he was fine.”
“So where are you?”
“You’re not going to believe this one. I’m in Tennessee.”
“What the hell? Where’d that come from?”
I chuckle. “Things got a little crazy after you left. I like it, though. It’s quiet out here, and the mountains are pretty. I’ve really gotten into hiking.”
“Are you sure this is Daisy? Is this some crazed fan posing as the little girl next door who hated exercise with a passion?”
I snort. “Nope. But speaking of fans, how’s all that going? Where are you?”
He starts to tell me about the tour, and pretty soon, our conversation actually feels natural. I can picture him so easily in the cities he tells me about, performing with his brothers, the venues now quite a bit bigger than they used to be.
“You guys will be doing a stadium tour in no time,” I say.
“Yeah, right. I don’t think we’re quite the stadium-tour types.”
“Oh, come on. I bet you could convince Cash that a laser light show is just what you guys need.”
He laughs, and my stomach actually aches at the sound. God, I miss him.
“I might come see you,” I say in a rush, scared of how he might react.
He’s quiet on the other end of the line.
“Your show, I mean,” I say, a blush coming to my cheeks. “A few girls I met here are going to road trip to the east coast once school gets out and follow the tour. I thought I might go with.”
“Really?”
I can’t read his voice. It sounds kind of flat, disengaged. “Yeah. I mean, if you didn’t want to hang out, I would totally understand. I could just enjoy the shows with everyone else. But I’d really like to see you guys again.” I grimace. He’s giving me nothing to go with here. “On stage or, uh, off. If you want.”
The silence is deafening. Finally, he clears his throat. “I’d like that, Daisy. To see you. I hope you come.” But his voice is still flat.
“Yeah?”
“Of course. You’ll forgive me, though, if I don’t get my hopes up.”
I cringe, feeling ashamed. “I get that. You don’t have to trust me, Daltrey.”
“Will you let me know?” He sounds warmer now, with maybe a note of hopefulness. “When you decide for sure?”
“Of course,” I say quickly, feeling better right away. Maybe he really does want to see me. “Of course I will.”
Chapter Nine
Daisy
“We do not need those,” Karen says, crossing her arms and giving Paige a stern look. “I mean it. Put them down.”
Page pouts in the middle of the aisle. “Why not?”
I stifle a giggle at the look on Karen’s face.
“Why in the world would we need balloons, Paige? Seriously, give me one probable scenario in which a balloon would be necessary over the course of this trip.”
Paige thinks for a moment. I’m glad we decided to make this shopping run late at night, though the timing was due to Karen having to work the night shift at the grocery store. Wal-Mart is fairly empty right now, which prevents us from receiving the kind of attention we’d be getting otherwise.
We’ve spent the last hour picking out snacks and supplies for our road trip. Or rather, Karen and I have been picking out snacks and supplies. Paige has been choosing increasingly ridiculous items that she deems essential for fun on the trip. While Karen has been trying to ensure we’ll have the necessities, such as caffeine and tampons, Paige has picked up pretty much every shiny, pink, or noise-making item in the vicinity.
“Well, what if we meet new friends waiting in line for one of the shows?” Paige asks. “And we end up staying in the same hotel as them. And then one of them has a birthday. We would want to decorate their hotel room door, wouldn’t we?” She grins and holds up the plastic bag. “Thus, balloons!”
I’m pretty sure Karen’s head is about to explode. Shopping with these two has been eye opening. Paige may be a little more ditzy than I first gave her credit for. I’m starting to wonder how someone as no-nonsense as Karen puts up with her.
I decide to try and smooth things over. “Well, if that happens, we could just take the car out in whatever town we’re in and find balloons. I’m sure there are Wal-Marts pretty much everywhere we’re heading.”
Paige’s face falls. “I guess you have a point. No balloons then.” She sets the bag down, looking pretty sad, until she spots a set of sparkly gel pens. “Oooh!”
“Let’s get out of this aisle,” I say quickly. “I want to get a car charger for my cell phone.”
We head over to electronics. Thinking about my cell phone makes me wonder how many times my dad has called since I set it to silent. I slide it from my purse and glance at the screen. Five missed calls. I stifle a sigh. I had to add an extra session last week so that Dr. Jacobs could help me build up the courage to tell him about the road trip. He reacted exactly the way I thought he would: with a flat-out refusal.
“No. You’re not ready for something like that, Daisy,” he said.
“Dad, come on. It’s been almost a year since Horizons. I have to start making friends sometime.”
“Friends are one thing. You traveling halfway across the country with complete strangers is another. Besides, I’m not sure I like the idea of you spending time with the Ransomes. They’re pretty high profile. What happens if you end up in the public eye?”
I shuddered, not wanting to admit to him that I had the
same fear. I couldn’t get the image of photographers out of my mind. What if they followed Daltrey wherever he went? I couldn’t be seen with him.
He might not even want to be seen with you, I thought. You need to minimize your expectations. You’ll probably chat a few times, maybe get to say hi to his brothers, and that’s it.
“This isn’t about Daltrey,” I told my dad, ignoring the niggling voice in my head that said that wasn’t exactly true. “It’s about doing something that sounds fun with some girls that have been really nice to me over the last few weeks. I want to do this, Dad. I feel like I need to.”
He was quiet on the other end of the phone for a long time. I pictured him sitting in the kitchen of his empty condo, probably still dressed in his suit from work. The image made me feel sad. “I don’t know, Daisy. I don’t like it.” He doesn’t have to tell me that he doesn’t trust me for me to hear those doubts in his voice.
I decided it was time to pull out my ace card. “Dad, Dr. Jacobs thinks it would be really good for me. She asked if she could give you a call.”
He had no argument for that. My dad trusted Dr. Jacobs implicitly. It was no coincidence I went to school only a few blocks away from her private-practice offices instead of back in Ohio near his place. I knew he remembered the early reports from my treatment at Horizons. The way I was silent and refused to participate in any kind of therapy, how I refused my meds and had to be housed in a totally “sharps-free” environment. Dr. Jacobs was the person to first inspire some progress in me, so he looked at her as a savior. The fact that she was a very expensive doctor added to his respect. In my dad’s eyes, price was an indication of value.
Later, Dr. Jacobs called him and convinced him normal social interactions were an important part of my recovery. She also casually mentioned that helping me to feel trusted would likely make me behave more trustworthily. So he changed tactics, calling me several times a day to encourage me and give me tips on how to handle myself and how to stay safe.
I know he’s just scared, and I don’t blame him. When I was at Horizons or settled in my apartment, he knew exactly where I was and what I was doing. Using his well-paid contacts at the university, he could keep track of me and my well-being without ever having to see me or deal with me on a personal level, which I’m sure was a big plus for him.
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