My dad smiles behind his bottled water, his eyes roaming around the room, a nostalgic look on his face. And then, something occurs to me that I’ve never considered.
“Do you miss it, Daddy?”
“Every day.” He smiles simply. “Being on stage is like living a different life, letting a part of you connect to something so much bigger than yourself. The adrenaline, the rhythm pulsing through your veins—it’s electric. I loved it.”
“What about life on tour, though? Didn’t it get old?”
“Oh, sometimes, but I liked the camaraderie, the open road. I loved touring with you kids. Do you remember the games we’d play? Gas station roulette? Travel bingo? And every stop had new food, new catering. We’d have you guys pick ingredients to try and cook in the bus kitchen, and we had to eat them.”
A memory surfaces of exactly what he’s describing: Nora holding up a can of lychee, convinced it would pair well with canned tuna and instant ramen. Mom had grimaced, but Dad had declared it a "culinary challenge," and we’d all taken tiny, horrified bites before ordering pizza at the next stop.
I laugh. “I remember! And the time I picked out that durian candy, and the whole bus stunk like a trash can for the rest of the day?”
Mom and Nora come over, having overheard us.
“That was the worst!” Nora says. “It was the middle of December, snowing outside, and we had to keep the windows open because that stuff smelled so bad!”
We all start laughing, but Mom’s smile fades before anyone else’s. Dad’s lingers, nostalgia still warm in his eyes. Then, Mom rests her head on his shoulder.
“I wish I could go back,” she says. “Handle it all differently.”
The bottom seems to fall out from under me.
“Youdomiss it?”
She pops her head up. “No! No, that’s not what I mean.”
She looks at my dad, and something unspoken passes between them, like a conversation they’ve had a hundred times. But this time, Momma raises her eyebrows.
“It’s time.”
Daddy closes his eyes. “It’s no excuse.”
“I’m not giving an excuse. I’m giving context,” Mom says.
Tears well in her eyes, and I realize this conversation has taken an unexpected turn. June has come over now, and it’s likewe’re having a family meeting, the way we’re all circled around each other.
Momma inhales and exhales slowly. Purposefully. “Girls, I had … I had severe depression on tour. It would take me months to gear up for it, and after every show, I would sleep all day. I couldn’t get out of bed until it was time for me to perform, and even then, the only thing that kept me going was that moment on stage when Lou would come out. June, you were too little to remember this, but Nora, I think you always knew.”
“I suspected when I got older that that’s what it was. I wasn’t sure, though.” Nora frowns. “I’m sorry, Momma.”
“Your dad and I thought I would be happier if I could tour with my family, but the toll touring took on me was more than I could handle.”
Her lip quivers, and she looks around the room to make sure no one is listening.
“I was no good to y’all. Therapy could only do so much on the road, and medication never worked for me. And that meant that your dad had to be on all dayandall night. Performing, after-parties, interviews. He was at all of them. But on the bus, he had to be both Dad and Mom. And when someone gave him a stimulant?—”
“Stop it,” he says. My dad has owned his addiction and sobriety for years, so talking about it is comfortable for him. “It was never your fault. I made my own choices.”
She’s crying now, and it makes me cry, too. Makes all of us cry.
“He was trying to be there for me, too. He was trying to take the burden off of me.” She swipes a finger across her cheek and then another. “Lou, you’ve always asked me if I regret leaving, and I don’t. Not for a single second. What I regret is not having left earlier so that …” She hiccups. “So that yourdadcould have kept touring. Because the music was in him. The fire was in him.He lived for it. But because I held on too long, I robbed him of it.”
“No,” Dad says, smiling at my mom and wiping her tears with his thumbs.
In this moment, he reminds me so much of Patty, I physically ache with longing.
“It wasn’t your fault. I should have been honest and admitted I was overwhelmed. I should have gotten you help sooner. It was selfish of me to want to stay on the road for so long. You don’t get to blame yourself and forgive me.”
