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But I’ve felt her gaze on me frequently ever since Piper’s rental car disappeared from sight, and I’m sure she’s drawn plenty of conclusions about what happened while they were gone that I haven’t shared.
“She had to head home.”
“That sucks,” Bailey replies, which sums up my feelings about it well.
I’m still kicking myself that last night—of all the nights—was when I decided to fall asleep on Hudson’s couch. I keep telling myself it was for the best, that this morning would have gone the same way anyhow, but I haven’t managed to convince myself of it yet. I missedhourswith her.
“This is my aunt Mabel,” I say. “And my uncle John.”
Bailey studies them curiously, then offers a small wave. “Hi. I’m Bailey.”
“Very nice to meet you, Bailey,” Mabel says.
John nods his agreement.
“Feel like looking around the ranch a little bit?” I ask.
There’s not much else to do here. Her last visit was brief and mostly spent with Piper in town.
Bailey shrugs. “Sure.”
Mabel heads back inside while John hobbles toward the barn. I lead Bailey toward the milking shed. We pass the bunkhouse first. I avert eye contact from the building. Having Piper stay here was a bad idea for a realization I’m only just experiencing—the ranch is filled with reminders of her. I feel echoes of her presence everywhere.
Next, we pass the recording studio.
“What’s that?” Bailey asks, pointing at the small building.
“Used to be an old shed. Now, it’s a recording studio.”
“Can we look inside?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Once we reach it, I open the door and gesture for Bailey to walk inside first. Based on her expression, it’s more impressive than anything else she’s seen on the farm.
“Whoa,” she breathes, looking over all the shiny equipment.
“I had it built so I could get some work done while spending more time here.”
Bailey glances at me. “Before Mom died?”
“Yeah.” It’s the first time I’ve heard Bailey refer to our mom asMom, and it affects me more than I expected. I figured her stepmom held that title. “She was a big music fan, you know.”
Bailey shakes her head. “Dad doesn’t like to talk about her.”
I sigh. “Mom was…difficult sometimes. She made a lot of mistakes, especially where you were concerned. I’m sure she hurt your dad. But I know she loved you, and I hope you know that too.”
She looks away, back at the soundboard.
“Are you still going to use this studio?”
I walk over to the couch and take a seat. “Probably not. I’m taking a break from music right now.”
“Why?”
I blow out a breath, debating how much to share with her. It’s hard to describe drugs and depression and paparazzi to a kid.
“No specific reason. Mom’s death made me reconsider a few things. Shift my priorities around a little. But I also felt like making a change. Music got to be overwhelming at times.”
