“Sure,” I said, getting up from the sofa and walking into the kitchen. I settled onto one of the bar stools at the island in the middle of the kitchen. “What’s up?”
“Mr. Slade, I got a lead on your mother a few weeks ago that led me to St. Louis, and I started canvassing the streets and the homeless shelters. That’s when I got a tip that sent me to a shelter in downtown St. Louis, and the director there was able to confirm that someone matching her description had been staying there up until about a month ago.”
“Wait, what?” I asked, unsure if I’d heard him correctly. “You found her?”
“The sources I found hadn’t seen her on the streets or in the shelter for several weeks, so I broadened my search to the local hospitals,” Detective Bryant explained. “I did find her, Mr. Slade, but I regret to inform you that your mother passed away about a month ago due to a drug overdose. Her body is being kept in the morgue at St. Louis University Hospital.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m so sorry, son.” He sighed into the phone. “I wish I had better news.”
“She’s dead,” I said, still in disbelief. “You’re telling me she… she’s gone?”
“Yes, son,” he answered. “I’m very sorry, but there’s something else. The director of the homeless shelter called me late last night. She told me she found something that belonged to your mother that had been left at the shelter. I’d like to bring it to you this afternoon, if I may. I’m back in Nashville, and I can come right to you.”
“What is it?” I asked, my rage threatening to rise to the surface.
“I think you should see it for yourself,” he said gently. “Text me the address of a place I can meet you, and I’ll be there soon.”
“Okay,” I responded. “I’ll see you soon.” Once I ended the call, I tapped out Dallas’s address in a text to Detective Bryant as my legs carried me back to the living room where Dallas and Cash waited for me.
“Jax? Are you okay?” Cash asked.
Dallas eyed me, his face awash with concern. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I took my seat next to Dallas and sat there a moment, lost somewhere between numbness and an all-encompassing rage. “It was the detective calling about my mom. She’s dead.”
“What?” Dallas asked, his voice laced with shock.
“Jesus, Jax,” Cash said, leaning his elbows forward on his knees. “I’m so sorry.”
My eyes flickered to both of theirs. “He’s on his way over here to give me something he found of hers.”
“Do you know what it is?” Dallas questioned, and I shook my head.
I didn’t know, and at this moment, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to.
The detective’s visit was so short that you’d never suspect he’d handed me the only thing left of my mom: a worn and beat up shoebox that contained God only knew what.
I would make sure she’d have a proper burial, but there would be no funeral. Cash, Dallas, and the guys would come out of respect and support for me, but the one person I wanted to be there wouldn’t be.
If my mom had any friends, I didn’t know about them. I knew nothing about the life she had, except that it was now over.
“Would you like us to step out?” Cash asked as I stared at the shoebox in my lap. “We can give you some privacy.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Stay.”
I took a deep breath, trying to prepare myself for what I might find in this old shoebox, the last connection I had to my mother. Dallas and Cash watched nervously as I lifted the lid as though I was about to attempt to defuse a bomb.
Staring back at me were yellowed and worn paper clippings. Some that had once belonged in newspapers and others that were once part of glossy magazines. I gently lifted a piece out, realizing it was one of the first press pieces ever done about Midnight in Dallas from the paper in Louisville.
“Wait, is that us?” Dallas asked, peering over my shoulder. Wordlessly, I nodded and handed it to him. The next piece my fingers landed on was a cut out fromRolling Stoneback when we were interviewed about our last album. I lightly ruffled my fingers over the cutouts. There were dozens of them.
“They’re all of us,” I said softly. “Of me.”
Then I saw one that caught my eye. It was an article about me and my ‘mystery woman.’ Tears flowed down my face as I looked at the photo that accompanied the article. It was that same paparazzi photo of me and Liv from the Halloween party in Las Vegas. Liv was so beautiful she practically radiated off the page. I was kissing her cheek in that picture as though I’d kiss her every day for the rest of our lives.
I placed the box on the coffee table, holding on to the photo of me and Liv between my fingers. “She knew about Liv,” I choked out before finally tossing the paper back inside the box and rising to my feet. The last string tethering me to whatever shred of sanity I had left snapped. I rubbed my hands over my face and paced the length of the living room.
