"So, Zach sat with Tiffany... oh!" I nearly shouted, the realization finally dawning on me. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" I added, panic seeping into the edges of my voice. My little girl had a crush. When I asked, "Isn't that the Issaacs boy?" at that football game, Zoe responded with a breathless, "Yes." How could I have missed the dreamy look in her eyes?
"I get it now." I folded my hands on the table. They had become sweaty, and I cleared my throat, trying to think quickly. Teenaged love... what did I remember about it? "Sit, Zoe, and let me tell you a story." She complied begrudgingly. My mind whirled. The eighties. High school. Locker rooms. Pin-ups... "There was this girl, Farrah Fawcett." Even as I said it, I realized my crush on one of Charlie's Angels was not going to cut it, but I was in this far. I decided to change my story up some to make it more relevant to her. "She sat next to me in English."
Zoe straightened a little, her eyes showing faint interest. She was buying it. She had no idea who Farrah Fawcett was. "She had this great, full hair and one of those really dazzling smiles." I let myself fantasize briefly. What if Farrah Fawcett had sat next to me in English? I shook my head to clear it. "Anyway, I made my move on her, and she flat out rejected me."
"How did that make you feel?" she said sympathetically, laying her hand on top of mine on the table.
How did that make me feel? My wheels spun. I had to make this good. Suddenly I remembered a girl who turned me down freshman year, making me feel like an idiot. "Angry, and hurt... and sad, a little."
"Yeah." She nodded. But her face shifted, and she eyed me skeptically. "Are you making this up?"
A little, a voice inside my head said. "Not at all," I bluffed.
"Well... even if you are, it's sweet." She kissed my forehead in a way that melted my heart. Rising from the chair, she looked more like a woman than I cared to admit. I congratulated myself for dodging another bullet. She turned as she was about to leave the room, hesitating with her hand on the door jamb. "Dad, what was your move?"
I yawned exaggeratedly and stretched my arm over the back of the vacant chair as if an imaginary girl sat there.
"Pathetic," she murmured, shaking her head with a laugh and leaving.
"Thank you, Lord," I whispered.
A week later People magazine did a spread on the death of Farrah Fawcett. Zoe traipsed into the room and threw the magazine on the table in front of me. I couldn't help but breathe a reverent, "Farrah Fawcett."
"I've got you, Dad."
"Oh, didn't I mention she went into acting?" I scrambled.
"Hmm..." She bent with one hand on the table and the other on the back of my chair as a bead of sweat blossomed on my forehead. "Funny thing is..." she said slowly, leaning in, "I read about her, and she didn't grow up in Lincoln, Nebraska. So it would have been difficult for her to be in your English class, wouldn't it?"
"All right. All right. You got me, I lied to you."
She gave me a self-satisfied smirk.
"I didn't really grow up in Lincoln, Nebraska where your grandpa lives. I grew up in Hollywood."
"Dad." She swatted my arm.
"What?" I laughed innocently, holding up my hands. "What?"
She gave me a faux-frown and walked away.
I chuckled quietly to myself, but I began to wonder if I should be going to Denver next week with Zoe's current emotional turmoil. Then again, emotional turmoil was a daily occurrence... and maybe I could get Auntie Denise to take the kids for the weekend. Zoe could use some girl time. But was Denise the one I wanted helping her with that? She could be somewhat of a loose cannon. And yet, she waited to have kids until she had that degree in her hand, while Zoe was already in fourth grade before I even finished law school. Maybe Denise was just the person she should be hanging around.
I opened my cell phone and placed the call. "Hey, Sis..."
Chapter 12
Samantha
It was midnight. We were somewhere in the middle of Kansas, I think, and I had taken the wheel hours before. Maxi and Alex were crashed out in the back seat, presumably having talked themselves out. You'd think they never got out of the house the way the giggles and gossip was flying between them. It was quiet, the music was on low, but the pre-dominate sounds were the wind and the tires as they rolled away the miles.
Dani joined in the conversation at first, caught up in the initial excitement of us all taking a trip together. She'd even offered some song analysis, which was one of our favorite things to do. It seemed to annoy others, but we loved it. Steve Miller's "Jungle Love" was playing when she leaned back, fighting over the wind to be heard.
"You'd think if 'Jungle Love' was 'driving' Steve Miller 'mad,' it was making him 'crazy,' that he'd see a doctor, not write a song. I think they've got shots for 'Jungle Love' now. And how did he contract that 'Jungle Love,' I'd like to know."
I smiled. "Yeah, me too. Maybe he should contact Robert Palmer because, you know, he had a 'bad case of lovin'-yous' but he got it taken care of."
"Ahh," she thought about it. "Or perhaps Jackson Browne could help him. I know he's been to the doctor for his eyes." She turned to face the front, but leaned back a few seconds later. "Not to mention Johnny Rivers and his 'rockin' pneumonia and 'boogie woogie flu.' You know, I think I had that last week."
I played along. "Ooh. That's serious. You should get that checked out."
Alexis leaned up, frowning at us. "You two are weird."
But after the first hour, Dani only chimed in occasionally, and when we asked her something, nine times out of ten she'd have to ask us to repeat the question. I couldn't tell if that was because of the wind, or the fact that all of us have hearing damage from the dishwasher and timers going off at the school, or if she simply couldn't manage to stay tuned in to the conversation.
Now as I examined her in the light from the dashboard dials, I wondered about her still being awake. She couldn't have slept well the night before. She gazed out the window, her hair blowing back from her face, getting tangled in her lashes. But she couldn't have been seeing anything in the dark stillness of the Kansas night. I reached over and took her hand. She jumped.
"How are you doing, babe?"
"Fine. Do you need me to take over so you can get some sleep?"
"Nah," I lied. "I'm all hopped up on Starbuck's and sodas. I'm fine. I could probably make it all the way to the ocean shore."
She smiled. "Thanks, Sam."
"For driving? Well, we aren't there yet. I wouldn't be overly confident in your gratitude for that. I'm known to have an accident. Or two or three." It was true. I'd slid into the curb coming into our neighborhood twice and wrecked the axels on two of Bill's cars. If Todd knew I was behind the wheel of his fancy Caddie, he'd be having conniption fits right now.
"No." She squeezed my hand. "For being here for me."
"You'd do the same for me." I jerked my head toward the back seat. "Are those two clowns out?"
She turned to check on them. "Down for the count."
"Why don't you try to get some sleep, too?"
"No. I'm going to keep you awake. I can't sleep, anyway. Let's turn up the music a little."
She nudged the volume up a notch or two, and, ironically, "Life is a Highway" was on, by... oh, who was it?
"Tom Cochran," Dani stated softly.
"Ugh," I growled, frustrated she got it first. "I was thinking it. I'll split it with you." I was always claiming half of other people's calls, so she didn't even comment. Out of habit, I remarked, "You can't 'drive it all night long,' Tom. Not unless you want to end up in the ICU."
"Perhaps NODOZ might be in order for him," Dani speculated.
"Definitely."
"He must be friends with Eddie Rabbit."
I was probably the only person on the planet who would have gotten that. "Yeah, he's 'driving his life away', but did he ever stop to think instead of 'searching for a sunny day' he could just... like... wait for one to come?"
"Exactly, my friend. Especially with the price of gas these days."
>
"No kidding."
A peaceful quiet descended over the car. Twenty miles outside of Denver, Dani fell asleep. It was 2:30 when we pulled into the parking lot of a cheap motel. I should have been scared they offered hourly rates, but I was too tired to search for anything else. The air smelled strangely of raw sewage and bargain basement priced perfume.
"Sorry, girls," I said as we struggled to get luggage out of the back of the Caddie. "I'll find us a good place tomorrow." My stiff back strained as I hefted my Coach suitcase, which appeared woefully out of place in its current environment.
Alex and Maxi grunted an unidentifiable response. Dani gave me a smile. "Just don't touch anything."
Chapter 13
Danielle
I was doing okay until I saw my little sister. Becca was a crier under normal circumstances, and just making eye contact with me set her off this time.
It must have been a sight, me, Maxi, Sam, and Alex pulling up in the Caddie in front of my sister's house. They dropped me off, saying it was time for me to be with my family, and promised to be back at the ring of a cell phone. Steve, Amber's husband, saw me pull up. He alerted the crew, and they all piled out onto the driveway to hug me.
"I didn't get here on time," I bawled.
"No, Dani. Believe me, you didn't miss anything. He didn't look like himself at all," Amber said reassuringly. "The blood settled, making the back of his neck purple. It was horrible. You didn't need to have that image burned in your memory forever." The others nodded in agreement, their faces grim.
I hugged Amber again. "I'm sorry you had to deal with everything... early on."
"Yeah, it was pretty awful," she acknowledged, her voice choking up a little. "But, at least we know he didn't suffer." She put her hand over my shoulder. "Come on. Steve is wiping off the patio chairs so we can sit outside. It's nice out now the storm has chased away the humidity. The sun is out, and it's like we're getting a fresh start."
"And we're making Mojitos." My brother, Don, threw me a wink as he climbed the stairs of Amber's bungalow. I stopped for a minute, watching his wavy, brown head of hair disappear inside.
"I know," Becca whispered conspiratorially as she came to take my other arm. "Amber and I have noticed how much he's starting to look like Dad, too."
It was striking. The voice, the movements, the facial expressions, even some of the phrases he used when he spoke were patently Dad. It was sort of creepy.
We sat on the patio and talked for most of the afternoon, telling old stories and getting snockered on Mojitos. I know my brother tried hard to make them authentic, but I hated the way the mint leaves got in the way when I tried to take a sip, so I discreetly tried to remove them with my fingertips.
"It feels strange to be laughing like this." I fished another mint leaf out, forgetting to be covert in my actions.
"Yeah." Amber nodded. "But it's what Dad would have wanted. He was always quick to laugh himself." Something was different about her. After a while, I realized she must have felt the need to step up now that Dad and Mom were both gone. She was the eldest. It was comforting to know she would be the anchor for us. "Dani," she said slowly, exchanging a look with Don and Becca, "we were wondering if you'd consider doing the eulogy." My stomach took a dive. I searched their faces. Were they serious? "You're the best writer," she added quickly.
"Maybe. But I'm a terrible public speaker. I get nervous and forget what I'm saying and become a bumbling idiot."
"You don't have to," she responded sincerely, but the disappointment was clear in the way her smile faded.
Get up in front of a bunch of people and talk about my dad? Public speaking was a trial in any situation, but like this, when I would be so emotional? But something inside me was urging me forward... perhaps the need to step up and do something adult for a change.
"I'll do it," I found myself saying.
"Fantastic," Amber cried.
"I told you the Mojitos would work their magic," Don said with a wink.
"I've been bamboozled."
"Something like that." Don placed both hands on the table and leaned forward, smirking. "It definitely had something to do with booze."
"Let's go get her some food so she can sober up enough to write a coherent paragraph."
Amber drove us all to an Applebee's a few blocks from her house, which was off one of the main drags in town. We piled out and headed up to a door, which we found locked.
Amber grumped, "We're hungry and bereaved, dammit. Don't mess with us."
We all laughed and found another way in. Dinner was unexpectedly nice. We weren't able to get together much anymore, just the four of us. Steve had offered to stay home and clean the house for the reception after the memorial service. We quickly fell into our old roles, Amber bossing, Don teasing, Becca being sweet, and me... well, me floating somewhere in between.
After dinner, we returned to Amber's to throw some pictures together on a tri-fold. My trio of lunch ladies showed, and my brother shamelessly flirted with Sam as we taped pictures down. It was late when we finished. I still needed to go back to the hotel and summarize my dad's life, and what he meant to us, in a few pages. I stayed up well past midnight at the posh resort Sam found for us, scribbling on pricey hotel stationary, but I was finally pleased with what I wrote.
Now, if only I had the guts to get up and say it.
Chapter 14
Tucker
I couldn't believe it when I saw her.
I had gotten up early to go for a run, despite the fact I was up late lugging speakers, and microphones, and other stage stuff back and forth to the trucks. I don't know, maybe it was the altitude, or the scenery, but I always felt energized in Denver. I was stretching out my hamstrings, leaning against the top rail of a little balcony at the end of the hall outside my room in the luxury hotel Chase put us up in. Chase insisted on only the best for his people, and luckily, I was one of his people. For some reason, I stopped and gazed out over the tennis courts below, taking in the fresh air, I think, and I saw her. She was wearing one of those cute, little tennis skirt things, dressed all in white, her hair in a high, bouncy ponytail.
At first I thought I was fantasizing, then I spied that blonde friend of hers, and I couldn't believe it. "Holy shit!" I tore down the hall, taking the steps two or three at a time, afraid I would miss her. Before I stepped out onto the sidewalk leading to the tennis courts, I took a moment to catch my breath so I could appear more normal.
Her friend had found some poor schmuck to tease, so my quarry was standing by herself, watching from a distance and fingering her racket. I snuck up behind her.
"Haven't we met before?"
She jumped and turned around to face me. She had on big sunglasses, so I couldn't get her full reaction, but at least she recognized me. "You're the roadie, from the Chase Hatton concert in Chicago."
I laughed. I couldn't get used to being called a roadie. "That's me all right." I gestured with my head to where her friend was leaning into the guy she was talking with. "Your friend seems rather... occupied... this morning."
"Yeah," she returned, staring off in her direction. "She's frequently 'occupied'." She began to slip the cover off the hotel's racket she held in her hand as she spoke, but looked up again. "My job is to make sure she's safe when she's 'occupied' with strange men."
"Sounds like a lonely job." I sensed a sadness about her I didn't notice in Chicago.
She turned and peered at me, seeming to weigh what I said behind those dark lenses. "Yeah. It can be."
"Tell you what," I offered, all too willingly, "how 'bout I warm you up while your friend chats with her new friend."
She smiled a million-dollar smile. "I think I'd like that," she replied softly.
"Oh, shit. I mean, shoot," I quickly corrected. "I don't have a racket."
"Not a problem." She held a finger to those beautiful lips of hers, then strolled to her friend and slid the racket right out of her hand from behind without her appearing to even n
otice. Relieved of the racket, the blonde's hand seemed to go automatically to the guy she was with's shoulder. My dream girl wandered back to me, smiling the whole damn way. I tried to push my heart back down my throat to where it belonged. She beamed at me, then glanced back at her friend. "She gets... rather caught up in things." She handed me the racket. "I'm sure she hardly notices it's gone."
I chuckled and began to unzip the cover of my purloined racket as I watched her out of the corner of my eye. Man, was she a looker. Creamy skin, lush hair, she simply oozed sexy out of every pore. But it wasn't just her appearance; dozens of beautiful women were staying at this resort alone. No, it was something else. The way she held herself, the graceful way she moved, the honeyed tenor of her voice... My gaze darted away as I tried to get a hold of my raging hormones. It had been so long since I'd even noticed a girl. I'd forgotten the strangely exquisite pain being attracted to someone made you feel. I was so far gone I was incapable of rational thought or speech. I clamped my mouth shut and followed her onto the court like a puppy following its master.
She went to the far side of the net, and bounced the ball as if to serve it. Then she stopped and approached center court. "I'm sorry," she said, "I never introduced myself." She offered me her beautiful hand. "I'm Danielle. Danielle Capodice."
"Nice to meet you." I gave her a sincere smile. "Tucker McCord."
"Well, Mr. McCord—"
"Tucker," I corrected.
"Tucker. Prepare to be annihilated." She sauntered back to the service line, her white skirt swishing against her long, tan legs, and, I'll admit it, I was totally watching her ass. But it was an ass that begged to be watched. She could have served to me like a three-year-old, and I wouldn't have returned it at that point. But instead she did this graceful toss, the ball floating into the air silently, and then, like a cobra striking, it sizzled past me.
"Oh, ho, ho. I think I've been had."
She cocked her hip and teased, "What, can't keep up with me, McCord?" The sassy way she said my name sent shivers along my spine.
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