She had a hunger to be seen, a need to be adored, and my daddy worshipped her. Sean and I did, too. But it wasn’t enough.
She was from a small town in the Ozarks where her family had always lived, but she was larger than life—or at least, she thought she was.
If she’d had any discipline, she might have stopped relying on her looks and actually honed her craft—maybe even built a career.
But she was like a feather floating on whatever breeze seemed most exciting.
Those winds never took her anywhere beyond a couple of state fairs or a gig as a backup singer for some has-been act with ulterior motives.
When she came back, she claimed she was “recharged” or a “changed woman.”
And my dad always let her back.
“You gotta chase your dreams,” she’d say. “Don’t let anything stop you.”
Anything.
That included your bills.
Your responsibilities.
Your family.
Even your husband—laid up in a hospital bed after a near-fatal accident.
“You understand why I can’t stay, right? It breaks my heart to leave him like this, but I have to be true to myself!” she cried on my voicemail when she left.
I know why she called me instead of Sean—she thought I’d understand.
After all, wasn’t I doing the same thing?
Living on a tour bus, seeing the inside of bars, then theaters, then finally arenas and stadiums all over the country? The world?
And it was that realization—that I was exactly like my momma—that had me downing drink after drink that night.
Not knowing one of them had something in it.
A rooster crows outside the bus, pulling me from the bleak corners of my mind.
An actual rooster.
After a quick shower—before Lou or her assistant are up—I grind beans, fill the filter, and hit the button on the coffeemaker.
With the coffee brewing, I look out the window at the Williams’ homestead.
Lou’s childhood home.
The rambling farmhouse is the color of creamed butter, with wooden rockers and a porch swing near the front door on the wraparound porch.
And Christmas lights. Wreaths on every window. A dead spruce tree on the driveway that looks like it’s waiting for the garbage truck to collect it.
On the road, time becomes a blur and dates don’t mean much beyond the next stop.
It was one thing for us to wish each other a Merry Christmas on the bus a few days ago. I hope the reminder of what Lou missed doesn’t hurt her.
The vastness of the landscape makes the sprawling home feel downright cozy, especially with the Christmas lights. Pines andwhispering oaks meet rolling pastures that seem to extend into the pre-dawn light.
Lou may resent her mom’s life now, but I can’t help but envy it. I drink my coffee at the window, marveling at the view.
