Frank’s the only one who knows what’s really going on. Everyone else thinks I’ve got a stomach bug. I should be writing hit songs right now and rehearsing for the tour of my life. Not wiping baby drool off myself.
Groaning, I scrub my face. What am I supposed to do? Ditch my kid like my asshole parents ditched us? My dad might have been here physically, but he didn’t give a shit about me and my brothers. He might as well have taken off like our mother. And when he actually paid attention, it was to rough us up or boss us around.
I haul my ass off the rocker, both legs half asleep, and limp toward the kitchen as Gabe and Austin take off for the barn. Yawning, I pat Layla’s back. “Sorry if we woke y’all last night.”
Paige waves me closer. “No one’s complaining. Happy she settled down for you.” She holds out her arms. “Give me thatbaby. Go shower or whatever, and come back for some breakfast. I made pancakes.”
“I’d hug you, but I reek. Thanks, sis.” I hand her Layla, who doesn’t fuss.
“Anytime.” Paige coos at my daughter and smooths back her crazy head of hair.
After I shower, eat, and apologize to my brothers for missing the morning chores, Rhett pats me on the back while I try to feed the baby. “It’s cool. Zey covered for you.”
My eyes meet Isaiah’s across the kitchen. “Thanks.”
He nods slowly. “Happy to help.”
Yeah, I was a dick to him last weekend. Guess I’ve bottled up a few feelings about him taking off the way he did, but I’m starting to appreciate that, like with Deanna, I probably don’t have the full picture.
Paige reads something on her phone and her eyes widen. “Jace, whatcha doing in an hour? Because I think Baylee and I figured out a solution for you.”
“Sorry, I’m tired as fuck. Spell it out to me like I’m five. A solution for what?”
She grabs my shoulder and shakes it hard enough that Layla’s eggs topple off my spoon and back onto the plate. “For your tour. So you can go.”
That wakes me up, but hope is a dangerous thing. I lean my elbow on the table and stare down at my daughter’s food. “I’m not leaving her behind.”
That was something Rhett suggested. Said that he and Paige would watch her. Baylee and Mav offered to help too.
They’re beyond generous, but I can’t leave Layla when she just lost her mother. Maybe if she was older, and I wouldn’t be gone for months, but not like this.
Paige smiles like that’s the right answer. “I know you won’t. That’s why Baylee and I found another possibility. How do you feel about getting a nanny?”
8
RORY
My eyes bluras I stare at the email.
Then the tears start. And they don’t stop.
I finally text Paige to ask if she wants to come over so I don’t drown myself in the sink.
At times like this, I can only think of doing one thing. I grab my favorite Pink Floyd record and click on my mom’s old record player.
This is the music of heartbreak and shattered dreams.
I should be packing up my apartment. Instead, I lie on the floor, close my eyes, and absorb David Gilmour’s iconic guitar on “Shine On You Crazy Diamond.” That guy was a genius.
No one writes music like this anymore. Everything on the radio is overprocessed and syncopated to death. It’s too perfect. Too smooth. Too produced. I can appreciate that computers make writing music faster, but it also sucks out its soul. Do people even use real instruments anymore?
When I have to flip over the record, I decide I probably shouldn’t lie down again. I can’t wallow forever.
I sit in my ratty old bathrobe with a cup of cold coffee and that email, which I printed out so I can parse the mayor’s words.Note that this isn’t wallowing. This is where I question what I could have done differently to not flood a beautiful historical building.
When someone knocks on the door, I jump up, glad I won’t be alone anymore. Hanging out with Paige always makes me feel better. She’s so optimistic and sweet.
But when I open the door, it’s not Paige.
