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Theresa nodded. “Call me when you hear something, Sonya.”
“Of course. In the meantime, take care of yourself. If you haven’t done so already, hire security. Now that David knows you’re going for full custody of your children, and you’ve cut him off from your money, he might resort to violence. I know how difficult this is for you to accept, but he won’t be rational as long as he’s under the influence of narcotics and alcohol.” Sonya opened the door, and Theresa followed her toward the reception area.
“I will.” Had David ever been rational or reasonable? Controlling, yes. A bully, yes. Rational or reasonable? Nope. At least he’d never been physically violent. Might that change? She had no way of knowing. “Thanks again, Sonya.”
Theresa walked out of the building and headed for the lot where she’d parked her car. Thankfully, whatever paparazzi remained in the area were the kind who hid in the bushes and in the shadows. Maybe they’d followed David instead of waiting for her. On the way home she’d pass her favorite bakery. Didn’t she deserve a treat after such a stressful meeting? Her boys and their au pair would also appreciate a dessert after lunch.
Ten minutes later, Theresa parked by the curb and headed into the old-style bakery. The delicious scents of freshly baked bread, pastries, cookies, and cakes wafted over her as she entered the quaint storefront with its black-and-white-checkered-tile floor. Her mouth watered in anticipation.
By the time she hit the opener and pulled into her garage, she’d managed to consume three of the half dozen cupcakes she’d purchased. The sweets had done nothing to lift her mood or fill the ever-present void inside her.
She entered the kitchen and set the bakery box on the counter. The sound of her two boys laughing drifted in through the window over the sink, and she glanced outside. Elli Savela, her Finnish au pair, supervised as Charlie and Jeremy played together in the tree fort and on the swing set David had built when they’d bought the five-bedroom hacienda-style home. A pang of regret pinched at her heart. David did love their sons, but their safety had to come first.
Theresa’s phone rang, and her caller ID came up with her keyboardist’s number. Caleb McGee was also her band’s director and a talented musician in his own right. “Hey, Caleb. Before you ask, yes, I’ve heard about the anniversary show.”
“Great. What are your thoughts?” he asked, his rich baritone voice resonating with excitement.
“Honestly, my thoughts right now are leaning toward quitting this brutal industry before anymore contracts are signed. Maybe I’ll go back to teaching. This has been a rough couple of years for me, and I’m not sure I want to continue on this path.”
Why had she told him that? She hadn’t planned to. In fact, she hadn’t even considered quitting until the words left her mouth. Even after being on the road for months together, she hardly knew Caleb McGee or her other band members for that matter. Sure, they’d spent a lot of time together, but David had always been there, acting as a buffer between her and everyone else.
“Are you free today? Would you mind if I came over this afternoon so we can talk about this?” he asked.
“I suppose that would be okay,” she muttered, her gaze straying to the box holding the remaining cupcakes.
“Good. I’ll be there at three. We’ll talk then.”
“All right.” They said their goodbyes and she ended the call. Her phone pinged an alert. Great. She’d been posted or tweeted about. She opened the message and stared at the unflattering picture of herself leaving the bakery not even an hour ago, with the box of cupcakes in her hands. The caption read, Pop Star Eats Her Way Through Divorce. #TheresaRhodes.
Shame once again raised its ugly head and tears filled her eyes. “Heartless, intrusive bottom feeders,” she muttered. Theresa deleted the notification from her phone and began making lunch.
Now that the word quit had been spoken aloud, her mind turned to her options. Did she want to move back to Oregon? She loved Santa Barbara, but could she afford to stay in California on a teacher’s salary? Her dad, brothers, and their families lived in Oregon … another good reason to stay in California.
If she went back to teaching, she wouldn’t have to deal with the paparazzi, the tabloids, or the cruelty aimed at her on social media ever again. Who gave a gnat’s ass about a nobody music teacher’s weight issues and her personal relationship failures? No one. Come to think of it, returning to obscurity would suit her just fine.
* * *
Caleb climbed out of his car and studied Theresa’s hacienda-style home with its clay-tiled roof and terra cotta walls. His mission was clear: Talk the gifted singer out of quitting what she was obviously born to do.
How should he handle this? She’d been having a rough time with her jerk of a husband, that much he knew. Not that she’d ever talked about it with him, but he’d heard about David’s affair, the partying, and the drugs. He’d witnessed the disrespectful, controlling way David had treated her while on tour, and he knew the two were divorcing.
Okay, here goes. He strode to the front door and hit the doorbell.
Theresa opened the door, and he couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under her pretty brown eyes. Her shoulders were hunched forward as if they bore all the weight of her grief. His heart went out to her. He was all too familiar with that particular brand of soul-sucking emotional pain.
“Come in.” She stepped aside.
“Thanks. I hope you don’t mind my coming over when it’s not entirely band business. I just….” He shoved his hands into his front pockets and stepped into the foyer.
“It is band business.” Theresa glanced at him and sighed. “I want to apologize for dumping on you earlier. I … argh. I had a really rough morning, that’s all.”
“So, you’re not thinking about quitting anymore?” His brow rose in question. Hopefully, she’d already changed her mind, and he wouldn’t have to talk her out of anything.
“I’m weighing my options.” She closed the door and led him to her kitchen. “Quitting is definitely on the table.”
“I see.” Damn.
One of her boys ran into the kitchen, followed by the other. “Mommy, Charlie won’t let me play with his Legos,” Jeremy, the younger of the two, whined.
