(with Paisley)
Now you’re gone
I’m done
I’m long gone, ripped apart, a wildflower in the wind.
Someday there’s hope
I know
It’ll find me one day soon and I’ll stand strong once again.
I’ll be able to stand the wind.
Until then
42
DON’T STOP
Lacey layered herself in perfume that smelled remarkably like Mother’s pound cake. She showered with the gel, buttered herself up with a creamy lotion in the same scent, powdered any of her parts that might sweat, then finished it all off with a spritzing of eau de vanilla.
She’d never had an official date before.
From the smell of things, Lacey apparently thought the way to Levi’s heart was through his stomach.
“You smell good enough to eat.” I sat on her bed feeling hungry. “I hope you don’t draw flies.”
“That would be plain awful.” Lacey tied her halter dress at the neck and turned around. “Am I even?” She looked down at her cleavage.
“No wonky boobs.” I watched her smooth her dress and step into her heels.
“Remember those matching halter dresses we wore at Easter?” Lacey giggled. “They were those Easter egg colors and Gabri…” Her voice trailed off. “Sorry.”
I shook my head and picked at the embroidery on her pillow. “It happens.” And it did. Weeks had gone by but the mention of his name was like pulling a scab off a wound and the bleeding starting all over again.
“I could stay home with you tonight.” Lacey sat beside me.
I laughed out loud. Couldn’t keep from it. “OK, you do that.”
“All right, I’m not about to stay here.” Lacey grabbed her phone and put it in a small beaded handbag that she’d lifted from Mother’s closet. “But you can call me and I’ll talk to you.”
“That’s comforting.” I held on to the pillow, my fingers tapped out a one-two-three, one-two-three beat against the soft back.
The doorbell rang.
“Levi,” Lacey squeaked. “You gotta beat Mother to the door!” She shoved me out of her room.
Lacey didn’t have to worry about me beating Mother to the door. Mother sat in the living room BeDazzling the pocket on a pair of her jeans. Dad answered the door.
“Paisley.” Levi nodded and spoke to me as if we had no history. I could’ve tap-danced on his starched shirt, and he had on nice boots. But I’d bet a hundred bucks his baseball cap was on his truck dash and would be on his head before he and Lacey made it down the drive.
Levi presented Mother with a bottle of wine. The label on it read, TUCKER VINEYARDS. “That’s our best stock.”
Mother held the bottle by the neck. “I’m sure it is.”
Levi tried to make conversation. “My mom thought you’d like the red more than the white. She said she remembered when y’all were younger that you liked drinks with color more.”
Dad faked a cough.
I remembered the Purple Jesus punch that Paradise warned me about at the Tucker Barn. And I remembered how he touched my face in the rain.
“That’s very considerate.” Mother smiled with her lips together like the Grinch’s. “I’m glad to know her memory survived her youth.”
The sweet smell of vanilla drifted into the living room and Lacey followed behind it. Not a hair out of place. She was perfect. Like a porcelain doll.
Levi took her hand, kissed her cheek. “You”—he caught his breath—“you look beautiful.”
Lacey rose up on her tiptoes as if she’d burst into flight. Mother held the wine bottle like Dad would hold a hammer. He pulled Mother to him, nuzzled her neck, and took the bottle away from her.
And all I wanted to do was go to Moon Lake and dance one more time.
When they left, Mother uncorked the Tucker wine. “God, if this kills me, don’t let L. V. convince y’all to bury me in the peach orchard. And I don’t want the Slider Brothers playing at my funeral.” Mother winced like she’d stepped on a rusty nail. “I’m sorry, Paisley.”
“Please don’t apologize every time you talk about death.” I wondered when the sorrys would stop. If they ever would. I wanted to be able to remember Paradise without the memory always being punctuated by a sad-faced oopsie.
Mother mumbled to herself about Levi and Lacey and dating.
“If you hate Lacey going out with Levi so much, why’d you let her go?”
She looked at Dad. “Because regret is a hard thing to live with. That’s why.” She poured the wine in a glass and sniffed it. “I regret a lot of my choices, but not the big ones. I absolutely do not regret loving your dad or you girls.” Mother sipped the wine as if it were vinegar and pushed it away.
“She regrets not following through with her dream,” Dad spoke up. “She wanted to be a chef. And she could’ve done it too, but she put it all on the back burner for us.”
“Jack, stop.” Mother fidgeted.
“And your Texapalooza stunt got me to thinking.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his wallet. “Lacey and I figured up the cost of her beauty school plus her community college tuition. Those folks at the Bible college appreciated the fancy food we catered.” Dad handed the paper to Mother. “They said they’d pay for you to cater their monthly concert.” He pointed. “The figure at the top is Lacey’s school. The figure in the middle is what Lacey told them you’d charge.”
“My gosh.” Mother’s eyes widened. “That’s high.”
I peeked. “Wow. That’s a Lacey number all right.”
“You’re worth that and more,” Dad said.
Mother moved her rhinestones and BeDazzler to the floor. “What’s this number at the bottom?”
“That’s the estimate on a kitchen renovation that I’m paying for, and you’ll need in order to get your catering company off the ground.”
Mother shook her head. “I can’t. The girls.”
“They’re growing up. You’ve always wanted to do this and the money can help pay for their school. I know you can be great.” Dad wound his arm around himself, rubbed his shoulder. “No excuses about Prosper County being too small or Dripping Springs being in the middle of nowhere. This is your time.”
Mother clutched the paper to her chest. Her face lit up with possibilities that she’d pushed down for years and years.
I had my drumsticks in my back pocket. Even though I hadn’t played in weeks, I kept them close because I was too afraid to put them down. Scared I’d never pick them back up.
I pulled them out. Gripped them.
Outside, the days were longer, and it was still plenty light in the west.
I called Waylon and Cal to meet me at the hangar. Cal answered the phone like I hadn’t talked to him in a year. “Hey, girl. It’s been a long time,” he said.
I set out. For the hangar. For the drums. For whatever the future held. Texapalooza wasn’t the dream come true; it was the dream taking off.
A rhythm I couldn’t escape hung in the air. I heard a heartbeat I’d never forget. It would always be with me. I set my stride to the pulse in my memory and pushed on. Wide-open.
The sweet smell of the first hay of the season drifted across the pasture. I walked to the hangar. I wanted the feel of the Prosper County dirt beneath my boots. I wanted to breathe under the broad night sky. I wanted to drum. I wanted to dance—if not at the pier, somewhere. The sun had gone, disappeared, pulling a trail of darkness over us all. But a crescent moon, a silver sliver, floated above the horizon. And Venus burned next to it. She shines the brightest right after the sunset.
CAL’S LYRIC JOURNAL
with Paisley and Waylon
GOOD MOURNING SONG
You left before I could say good-bye
Time rolls on and so do I
You taught us to trust in our best, own the moment, screw the rest
You’d expect nothing less
Than for us to write you a good mourning song.
The sun comes up and I want to cry
Shake a fist at God, and wonder why
But you’d find that a waste of time, put on your boots, and move along
You would move along
Taking with you your good mourning song.
You showed me things aren’t always what they seem
One man’s hobby is another man’s dream
You were wild rides and warm sweet kisses
You were burn the candle at both ends and make two wishes
You’d leave no regrets
So this is your good mourning song.
We’re still taking the drums and guitars high
Rolling with your spirit that stayed behind
So the door slammed, we’ll bust a window
Go wide-open, a bright beyond
And we will sing your good mourning song.
A new day, and this good morning song.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
From the muse that is country music to a bound book with a rockin’ cover, I get by with a little help from my friends:
My agent, Michael Bourret, who encouraged me to put my stamp on the “band book” genre. Boot-stamped.
My editor, Liz Szabla, whose patience and guidance delivered the melody of Paradise to me.
The teams/roadies at the Society of Children’s Books Writers and Illustrators, and Feiwel and Friends, whose support is as steady as the backbeat to a song.
My jam session/critique partners, Erin, Linda, Martha, and Sharon, who know how to get down to the nitty-gritty.
Friends and groupies, including Stacy and Blake, Katie and Sarah, Craig and Catherine, who not only read, but cheer me up.
My husband, Jon, who believes when I can’t, and holds my hand as we run this dream down.
And the forever fun-loving William, my son, who has both endured and survived socially despite my carpool tendencies to blare Southern rock and country with the windows wide open. Hey, hey, Big Red.… It’s how I roll!
Thanks, y’all.
A FEIWEL AND FRIENDS BOOK
An Imprint of Macmillan
PARADISE. Copyright © 2011 by Jill S. Alexander. All rights reserved. For information, address Feiwel and Friends, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Alexander, Jill (Jill Shurbet)
Paradise / Jill S. Alexander. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Teenaged Paisley Tillery dreams a career as a professional drummer will take her out of her small Texas town, but when her country rock band gets a handsome new lead singer from Paradise, Texas, those dreams may change.
ISBN: 978-0-312-60541-4
[1. Bands (Music)—Fiction. 2. Drummers (Musicians)—Fiction. 3. Country rock music—Fiction. 4. Ambition—Fiction. 5. Love—Fiction. 6. Family life—Texas—Fiction. 7. Texas—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.A37719Par 2011
[Fic]—dc22
2010050900
Feiwel and Friends logo designed by Filomena Tuosto
First Edition: 2011
macteenbooks.com
eISBN 978-1-4299-9547-4
First Feiwel and Friends eBook Edition: July 2011
Paradise Page 19
