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“In the garage. I was looking for some paint for a project and found a box of papers and sheet music.”
“You’re not supposed to be digging through stuff in the garage without my permission.”
She cocked her head in that way Oakley knew would only grow more sarcastic as she closed in on the teen years. “You were sleeping. How could I have asked permission?”
Oakley sighed. Reagan was going to be a demon on the debate team one day. “Then you wake me up or wait. Did you dig through any other boxes?”
“No. They were labeled with boring stuff.”
Thank God. She’d managed to keep her past tucked away from Reagan this long, she didn’t need it coming out now. Good thing she hadn’t labeled any of the boxes “Remnants of a Failed Teen Pop Star.” One day she’d tell her the story of how Mommy was kind of famous once upon a time. But not now. She wasn’t ready for the questions that Reagan would have yet.
“So are these yours?” she asked again.
Oakley took the pages from her. “Yes, I liked to write songs when I was younger.”
She still did. Her feelings tended to come out in lyrics, and she couldn’t turn that nozzle off. But now they were messy words scrawled on sticky notes or in her journal. Words that had nowhere to go except into the silence of ink on paper.
“Could we use some of these for the Bluebonnet songs? I like the one about wishes. How does it sound on the guitar?”
Oakley smiled. “Wait, Ms. Punk Chick likes ‘Dandelion’?”
Reagan lifted her bony shoulder, a little sheepish. “I like that part about people’s wishes floating in the air. That seems kind of cool. And the other girls will probably like it because it’s about flowers. Even though it’s really about wishes and not flowers.”
“What about the boys?”
“Who cares what they like?”
Oakley laughed. “You’ll probably care one day.”
“Not today.”
Oakley reached out and ruffled Reagan’s pixie hair—a cut Rae had insisted on despite it drawing some teasing from the other girls at school. Short hair was a no-no in tween land, apparently, but Reagan wasn’t one to take polls of popular opinion—a blessing and a curse. “Go and get my guitar, and I’ll try to remember how this one goes so you can decide if you really like it.”
Reagan’s face lit up and she ran off to get the guitar. Oakley reached for the watered down Coke she’d left sweating on the side table and swigged it for the caffeine more than the taste. She was going to have to find a way to grab some more sleep. Last night, her regular eight o’clock Wednesday caller, Edward, had been more than a little put out by the fact that she hadn’t been able to talk to him at the scheduled time. He said he’d called first and had gotten redirected to the wrong number and then when he’d called a second time, she hadn’t been able to talk yet.
She’d almost died on the spot when the phone had rung in front of Pike. On Wednesdays, her brother kept Reagan overnight to give Rae a chance to visit with her cousin Lucas and to give Oakley a night to herself. But instead of relaxing, she typically used it to log more hours on the line and earn extra money. So she had her account set to sign in automatically at eight. And Edward was used to getting his call at that time every week.
She’d apologized profusely, not wanting to lose one of her most steady and decent customers, and had agreed to give him time off the clock late last night after she was done with her other calls. So he’d taken full advantage of that time. He liked to talk to her like she was his girlfriend. So though it always led to sex stuff in the end, he first had conversations with her about life, things going on in the news, the weather. She had to make up things about her job and life, keeping everything confidential, but he seemed to enjoy the relationship-y parts as much as the hot stuff. It was the behavior of a lonely guy, but he wasn’t demeaning and he talked to her like she was a normal person.
She’d gladly take ten Edward calls a night than the rest of the stuff. Talking about the weather felt decadent after a night of being called a dirty little slut for the hundredth time.
Her phone buzzed from the coffee table and she grabbed it. Unknown Caller. It was too early for any calls to be forwarded from the service. She put it to her ear. “Hello?”
“I have two pizzas, a free night, and a lot of ideas. But I need your address in order to deliver these wondrous gifts.”
“Who is this?”
“Well, someone has a lot of guys calling her and offering free food.”
“Ryland.”
“Give the lady a prize. So what do you say?”
“Pike, it’s a weeknight and Reagan’s here and—”
“This is strictly business. We didn’t get to finish up last night and I’m booked up this weekend, so I figured we could squeeze in some planning tonight. Plus, what kid doesn’t like pizza?”
“She’s already eaten. And I didn’t say we could have meetings at my house.”
