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“I’m so mad at her,” Stormy mumbles into my shoulder.
I start to open my mouth to tell her that I am too, but I think better of it. I’m mad at her for entirely different reasons than Stormy is. I’ve been angry with Iris for years because of her selfishness, but I would never wish this upon her.
“I am so sorry, baby girl.”
“Why did she have to get into that car?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself the same question since. . .” I don’t want to say since I had to identify her mother’s body, so I trail off and hug her tighter and let her cry. Both Stormy and Willow will have questions about their mother’s death that I won’t be able to answer. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to figure out the way Iris’s mind works.
“She always messes everything up.”
Hearing Stormy say that about her mother really makes me pause. Did I make the wrong decision when I let the girls move here to live with her? I thought I was making the right choice for Stormy so she could follow her dream, but there’s a lingering thought in the back of my mind that is telling me I made the worst mistake possible. Maybe I should’ve put my foot down when Iris started hinting that Stormy should move to California. Second-guessing isn’t going to get me anywhere, though.
“We need to talk about what we’re going to do. You, Willow, and me.”
“About where we’re going to live?” she asks.
“Yeah. I know you have things going on here, but our home is in Nashville.”
“I know, but—”
I pull away so I can look my daughter in the eyes. She needs to see that I’m sincere with what I’m about to say. “No buts, Stormy. Our home is in Nashville, but we’ll stay in L.A. until you finish the school year. Barb told me that you have some auditions coming up and either I’ll go with you, Memaw will, or Barb. But once school is over we go back to Nashville. I know you want to dance. There are schools there that are just as good, and if not, I’ll hire someone to teach you.”
Stormy doesn’t say anything. She nods and wipes away her tears. Again, I find myself internally asking why Iris got into that car the other night. If she had just taken a taxi home, I wouldn’t have a disappointed daughter sitting next to me, or a house full of people pretending to mourn someone they really didn’t know. It doesn’t matter how many times I ask the same question. The answer will always be out of reach. No one will ever know what was going on with Iris when she got into that car.
“When are Pawpaw and Memaw going home?”
“Pawpaw is heading back at the end of the week so he can take care of the ranch. Memaw is staying until we kick her out.”
“And the other ones?” There is no mistaking the tone of her voice or the look on her face. She doesn’t care for her other grandparents, not that I could ever blame her or tell her to feel otherwise. It’s not like they know who the girls are, other than what they’ve gotten off my website. Unless Iris was in touch with them recently, but even if she were, I think she would’ve told me. We may have been divorced, but that didn’t mean we didn’t talk. Plus, she was still close with my mother, and I can’t fathom that Iris would make an effort with her own mama.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and sigh. “Their hotel stay ends tomorrow. After that, I want to act like I don’t know what they’re going to do, but the truth is, I’m scared of not knowing where they are.” The McCalls scare me. It’s always about money with them, and I have a feeling they’re going to do anything they can to exploit the passing of Levi Austin’s ex-wife.
zara
Seven
You’re only allowedto hide out in your house for so long before you have to at least open the garage door and drive your black Range Rover with tinted windows out onto the streets of Beverly Hills. Of course, once you accomplish that, it’s a mad dash by all the paparazzi to chase after you in hopes of getting that elusive picture because for the last month you’ve stayed in your house with your blinds closed.
That’s me in a nutshell. For the most part, I felt like I was on house arrest, but the truth is I couldn’t face the public. Not that thirty days behind closed doors is going to make a difference in the matter, not when Van has been seen out and about with his rumored girlfriend according to TMZ. When I see segments like that, it makes everything ten times worse. I don’t know why I expected him to wait until the ink was dry on our divorce papers since he had been cheating on me. Clearly, that was a sign that he had moved on from our relationship. I guess I thought he’d offer me that courtesy. I was wrong.
Our divorce is moving along swimmingly or as smoothly as humanly possible. Asher, my agent, kept good on his promise to send the best divorce lawyer he knew. To say that Alana Guinn is a shark would be an understatement. I swear she eats men for breakfast. After our initial meeting, she had papers drawn up and served to Van the next day. He called, and I ignored him. There wasn’t anything that he could say that would change my mind.
The only problem that remained was the band. After a long conversation with Darian, Hayden, and Freddie, we decided that Van would stay in the band to finish out the album. I’d play nice as long as Van kept his space. We’d finish out the tour, complete our obligatory commitments, and go from there. The guys weren’t exactly thrilled with the idea of replacing Van, and honestly, neither am I. I don’t know if I can work with him.
Which leads me to where I am now, behind the wheel of my car and backing out of my driveway, not paying attention to who is in my way. I figure if I hit them, they deserve it for not moving out of the way.
Today, we’re filming the music video for our recent release. I’m not over the moon excited about having to spend the day with Van, but the guys have promised they’ll run interference. Of course, I have a tremendous amount of anxiety right now, and driving is probably the last thing I should be doing. The idea of seeing Van. . . it does things to me. While my heart aches from missing him and breaks from the damage he’s done, my brain is telling me that he’s a piece of shit and that I need to kick him hard where his family jewels are. That’s what I should’ve done when I caught him in the act instead of standing there and watching. It took forever for me to process what I was seeing and by the time I did he was scowling at me.
The thought of seeing him today has me torn. I can’t shut the love I feel for him off like a light switch even though that is what he’s done. I mean, you don’t cheat on the ones you love so clearly he’s no longer in love with me, but failed to give me the memo, despite what his numerous voicemails say.
I’m followed steadily by the paparazzi who were able to hop in their cars and not lose me in traffic. Fortunately for me, they can’t see through my tinted windows. Unfortunately, though, a few have decided to get in front of me so they can get a picture of me driving. You know, because that will sell so well. I don’t even want to know what sort of bogus headline they’ll come up with to try and sell copies. For the most part, each time Van and I have been in the media it’s been for what I’d consider fun stuff. Pictures of us shopping, looking at puppies, or on vacation would appear, but never anything that led to a controversy. Now we’re front and center, and our lives are being played out in the media like a real-life soap opera.
With my current dilemma, the only saving grace is that our video shoot is being done in a production lot, which means security. I sigh heavily as I signal to turn in knowing full well the cars in front and behind me can’t follow me in.
“Good morning,” the security guard says.
“Hi. I’m Zara Phillips,” I tell him, handing him my driver's license. “We’re shooting on stage twelve today.”
