“Thanks,” he said. He looked around the porch and through the front door before he said, “Okay, I give up, where are we?”
I paused for a minute before answering, then looked him straight in the eye and said, “Well, I’m home and you’re visiting me.”
A look of confusion crossed his face as he scanned the exterior, “I don’t get it.”
“It’s quite simple really,” I said, wanting to respond with “well if you hadn’t ignored me for the last five years, maybe you’d understand,” but I didn’t feel it was an appropriate time for that. Instead I waved my arms like Vanna White towards the front door and said, “This is my house. It’ll be two years next month since I bought it.”
On my twenty-second birthday my father apparently thought he owed me a dollar for each of the months, hours, and maybe minutes of my life that he had missed. There were a lot of zeros on that check. Mama grabbed it from me just as I was about to rip it up, told me whether I wanted it or not, I was going to put it to good use. She said I deserved it. As much as I tried to fight the urge, music really was my passion. I had just earned my journalism degree from good old UT Knoxville and one of my professors had an in with a PR firm in Nashville, so here I came.
“One day, writing a press release while sitting out on the patio at Soulful Grinds, I saw the for sale sign go up and I just knew.”
“Wow,” he said, “you’ve been here all this time.”
I nodded. “I sat out on this porch the first night you played over there.”
He turned quickly to look up at me from the spot on the top step where he sat. I rocked back and forth, still standing in front of him, as I continued.
“Couldn’t quite make out the words, but I just closed my eyes and listened to the melody. Ah, I knew that wouldn’t be the biggest stage you’d ever play,” I said, “And look at you now.”
“That was a long time ago. You just stayed over here?”
“Guess I knew you weren’t ready to see me yet.”
He leaned back against the step, staring at the open sky.
“I’m sorry, you know,” he said.
“So am I.”
“It wasn’t right of me to throw that on you. The kiss or forcing you to make up your mind then and there.” I looked up at him with a partial smile as he continued somberly. “Seeing you last night, it kind of brought all of that back.”
“Logan...”
“Let me finish,” he said, “All these years I wanted to be mad at you, but I never was. There were so many times on the road I wanted to pick up that phone and call you. It can be lonely out there. Surrounded by thousands of people every night, but none of them get me the way you always did. No one that can calm my nerves when the size of the crowd actually dawns on me or knock some sense into me when I’m about to take one shot too many.”
We both laughed as I sat next to him on the porch step. I put one arm through his and rested my head on his shoulder. He reached over and patted my knee.
“That night my biggest fear was losing you. I guess I didn’t know how to handle it. But I realize now that not having you in my life at all…it’s been worse than not having you the way I wanted you.”
There was a long pause before I asked, “So does this mean we’re friends again?”
He laughed, “Yeah, ‘til the moon no longer says goodnight to the sun.”
We used to say that all the time when we were kids, back when we knew that we’d always be friends. I almost forgot about it until that moment and I smiled. Logan Kent was back in my life again. My best friend was no longer a distant memory.
“So, you moved to Nashville, bought a house and landed some cool gig writing about people like me. What else have I missed in the life of Celia Westbrooke?”
I laughed as I stole a sip of my drink. We’d taken our coffee for a walk down the side streets, making our way to the tour bus Logan would soon have to catch to be in Atlanta by dark. A few flashes of light from the corner of my eye let me know we weren’t alone. Being used to it, Logan acted as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. I on the other hand was doing everything I could to make myself incognito.
“That’s about it, really,” I said as I pulled my hair over my right shoulder, “Kate Middleton stole any hope I had of making Prince William fall in love with me, so when my plans of being a princess fell through the cracks I thought this was a good backup. Been working hard at it ever since.”
“And how ‘bout your dad? Does he know what you did with the money?”
I shook my head.
The deduction from his checking account was probably the only confirmation for him that I had actually received the check. Rock ‘n’ roll was my dad’s first love. The road, infinite groupies and the high he felt when he strummed that bass guitar to a sold-out crowd overshadowed family life at every turn. Ironic actually since my mom was one of those groupies back in the day. Oh how she loved the Black Horizons. She snuck into an after party for the band once on their three-day stint in Knoxville. A case of beer and a few joints later my parents found themselves in bed together and, well, nine months later, guess who arrived?
About three months into the pregnancy, my mom pushed her way backstage at one of his shows in Louisville. She wasn’t sure he’d remember her, but he did. And when she dropped the news on him, he promised he’d rise to the occasion…and from what I’ve been told, he did. For the first 365 days, at least. He held my mom’s hand through the labor and even woke up for midnight feedings, but by the time my first birthday came around, that itch to get back on the road resurfaced.
Day 366, my mom woke up to a note on the pillow beside her. I give her all the credit in the world. She could have broken down that day, but instead she vowed to make sure I had the best life I could. That I wouldn’t grow up wanting for anything. For the most part, I didn’t. She taught me how to work for the things I wanted and be thankful for what I had. She was always home to make me breakfast, get me off the bus and put me to bed. Then my grandmother would come over while she worked her night shift as a NICU nurse at the hospital. Every now and then I’d get a letter from my dad. He’d even set up a time with my mom to stop by and see me. Not often, maybe a handful of times in my twenty-four years on this earth. We never said much to each other. Awkward silence filled most of our gatherings and when he would leave there was still a void inside of me that wished my daddy could have loved me like a father should love his daughter.
Logan placed his hand on top of mine. He didn’t say anything, but I knew what he was doing. throughout our friendship. Our school’s father/daughter dance in seventh grade, the day Ethan Stanford brought in a signed Black Horizons poster from a concert he’d gone to one weekend of our junior year, when he spent the entire lunch period talking about how cool everyone in the band was. And then there was my high school graduation. I had actually called my dad, gave him the date and everything. He said he would be there, but of course he never showed. Each of those times Logan took my hand in his. No words in those moments would change the emptiness I felt, but the touch of Logan’s hand suddenly made it a little more tolerable.
“I’m proud of you, Celia,” Logan said.
I leaned towards him a bit and brushed his shoulder with mine, “I’m proud of you, too.”
A few minutes later we were standing in front of the bus, Logan’s lips softly pressed against my forehead. I closed my eyes and rested my hands softly on his forearms. There was a sense of serenity as we stood there. Even though our time together was brief, it had been enough to rekindle the friendship I had longed to have back.
“I should be home in a few weeks for a couple of days before I round out this tour. Maybe we can do dinner?” he asked.
“That sounds like a pretty good plan to me.”
I pulled out my phone to snap a quick selfie with him for my blog, then squeezed him one last time before he walked up the steps. It wasn’t until the bus was clear from the parking lot that I had noticed the cameras were still there.
Walking with my head down, I took the long way home, hoping they wouldn’t get good enough of a shot to run with. But as we all know with celebrities these days, a story can be made about everything, and I was about to become one.
4
A couple of days had gone by since I had said goodbye. Things had returned to normal and I was back in the office recapping Logan’s performance and the reception of his album. I was well into my story when the quick pace of footsteps and a loud voice jolted my fingers from the keyboard.
“I would recognize that wavy blond hair anywhere,” I heard from above.
It took a double take at the screen of the laptop being held in front of me for me to realize what was going on. Logan’s goodbye kiss to my forehead was frozen on the front of one of those gossip blogs. Three words in bold above it read “Logan’s Mystery Rendezvous.”
I looked up at Jaycie Wright, our concert recap columnist who eagerly awaited a reaction.
“We’re just friends,” I said, knowing how feeble that sounded.
“Oh no you don’t, girl,” she said snapping her fingers at me. “You are not getting out of this that easily so you better start talking.” She pulled her dark, curly hair over one shoulder and crossed her arms. I could hear the tapping of her foot as she impatiently awaited an answer.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said.
“How come you’ve never mentioned him before?”
“Long story.” I hoped that would be enough to let me get back to writing, but I should’ve known better.
She placed her laptop down on my desk and leaned in closer to get a better look at the photo on the computer screen.
“Well then, my friend, do you know what you’re about to be?” She paused for a second before she belted out the lyrics to Mariah Carey’s “Heartbreaker.”
“Oh stop it,” I said shaking my head. There was a slight smile that crossed my faced. Her lively performance in the middle of our office was a bit comical.
“I’m just saying, his hands, the way they grasp your skin, those eyes closed so tight. No way he’s thinking the same way you are.”
I shook my head and let out a chuckle. Those accusations were crazy. Had she only known how I’d dismissed any chance of that all those years ago. Only days before this had we rekindled our friendship, surely Logan wasn’t looking to go down that road again. I was doing an amazing job at convincing myself of that just as a text from him came through.
Rain is coming down hard in Philly today
It was the first I’d heard from him since he left, but admittedly I had checked the tour schedule enough times since to know he’d be in Philadelphia the next couple of nights before heading to NYC with a stop in Baltimore before returning to Nashville for a day or two.
Hope you stay dry; I’ll send some of this Tennessee sun up your way… I sent back.
Jaycie tried to peer around my shoulder. “Is that him?” she asked. My silence was enough confirmation for her. “Friends, huh? We’ll see how long that lasts,” she said through her hands as she coughed.
I crumpled up a gum wrapper that sat on my desk and threw it at her. Staring in her direction, waiting until she was out of plain view before I looked back down at my phone, disheartened at the empty screen in front of me. I must have checked my phone multiple times an hour that day. My heart sank as each time I found nothing but the palm tree image that was my background. I’m sure he’s busy. I’d tell myself as I continued to work on my blog.
My calendar was empty that night so I passed the hours lounging on the couch watching “Chicago Fire” reruns and submerging myself in a bowl of sesame chicken and lo mein, convincing myself the cardio-pump class I took before work this morning justified the calories.
It was a little past eleven when the sound of an alarm startled me from my sleep. Once my eyes acclimated to the light of the living room I realized it was just a fire alarm coming from the television. Pulling my phone from underneath me I saw a missed call from Logan. It was almost an hour old, but without hesitation I hit the call back button and waited. After the third ring I started contemplating if I should leave a voicemail, but before the next ring began, he answered.
“Hey, you,” he said.
I echoed his words in a raspy tone my “I’m still half asleep on a Sunday morning after a rough Saturday night” tone.
“Still raining up there?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am. The crowd up here were troopers, though. Still a sold out show.”
I smiled as he went on, catching me up on the last week he’d been gone. My eyes were closed and I had maneuvered myself onto my back, feet resting now on the arm of the couch. It had been so long since we’d done this. Something I had taken for granted in high school. Nightly phone conversations, dishing over the latest school gossip. My lonely night swooning over Lieutenant Matt Casey of the Chicago Fire Department had been pleasantly interrupted and I certainly wasn’t objecting to it.
"How was your day?" he asked.
"I finished writing my article on you. Think it turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself."
"Oh yeah? A lot of people seem to be writing about me these days, and you too, apparently." I laughed it off. He too must have seen the latest article with our picture, the one that was strewn with allegations. "Yeah," his voice lowered, "don't need anyone getting the wrong idea, do we?"
I could hear the shortness in his voice. Jaycie was clearly more on point than I would've liked her to be. Pretending not to notice, I faked a yawn and told him I should probably get to bed. He agreed. We exchanged goodnights and I pulled myself together long enough to make it to the bedroom. As good as it felt to have Logan back in my life again, the thought of reliving any part of that night all those years ago…well, it scared the crap out of me. I didn't want to have to make that decision again, to be the cause of any of his pain. Before I drifted off to sleep that night, I had promised myself that I would do everything in my power not to lose Logan again, not to hurt him like I did before. But even I knew the reality of that promise.
5
My mom had made the drive to Nashville for a visit the weekend after Logan had left. She arrived after work on Friday and we had made it more than halfway through dinner on Saturday before she brought up the subject of him. Much further than I had expected; usually she plays ten questions about my love life at the beginning of every visit. She even tiptoed around the actual picture, starting with how it must have been good to see him.
"It was," I said, taking a sip of my chardonnay. "You more than anyone know how bad it ended between us."
"You cried for weeks." She too took a sip of her wine before digging deeper. "So what did you guys talk about?"
I knew what she was getting at, but I replied with a generic, “Oh, you know, the usual.”
"I always thought that boy was the one for you."
"Mama, please. We've been over this. I don't want to cross that line with him."
"You know everyone back home is talking about that picture floating around.”
I slouched back in my chair. "Let them talk."
"Baby girl, I just want you to be happy. You know that, right?" She asked as she reached for my hand.
"I know, Mama, and I am, I promise."
It wasn't until we were back at my house that she brought up the subject again. She did a quick walk-through of the first floor before asking if I ever got lonely having this place all to myself.
"Not really, I like the peace and quiet." Her expression changed to a worried one as she sat on the couch beside me.
"I just don't want you to be afraid to let people in. Not all people are like your father, Cee-Cee. Not everyone leaves."
Mama was the only one I ever allowed to call me Cee-Cee. I hated nicknames. My boss suggested one when I first started working at Behind the Strings. She thought it might add a little allure having a pen name, but I quite liked seeing my name fully spelled out with each published post.
“Can we please sto
p talking about this?” I asked.
“I don’t want you to be afraid that you’re going to end up like me.”
“Mama, don’t you ever say that. There are way worse things in this world that could ever happen to me then ending up a strong woman like you. But even so, I’m not afraid and I don’t have daddy issues. “
“Cee-Cee, you are twenty-four years old and you’ve never been in love. Never even really had a relationship. Don’t you tell me that has nothing to do with your daddy walking away from us.”
I leaned closer to her and reached for her hands. She smiled at me, but her eyes were hollow. They were glistening, but not the way they did when she first arrived here in Nashville happy to see her little girl. It was clear that she was worried about me and nothing in that moment was going to change her mind. We both just stood there smiling, holding on to each other as we often did during the times the front door would slam behind my father and his guitar on one of his extremely rare visits. I would grab my mother’s hands as tightly as I could until the sound of the tour bus had faded away. It didn’t matter if I was three, eight, or sixteen, it was always the same. She’d hide her pain behind her smile and I’d squeeze her hands in comfort.
“You don’t have to worry about me. My life is fine the way it is. I’m not lonely or sad or in need of a boyfriend. Now let’s forget about all of this crazy talk and find ourselves a movie to watch.”
Sighing in defeat, she made her way to the kitchen for popcorn as I settled on a thriller. When she sat back down we alternated hands in the popcorn bowl and sat in silence, enjoying each other’s company. Even as an adult, I still cherish the time I get to spend with my mama. Every now and then I’d steal a glimpse in her direction and wonder why she would ever think there was ever anything wrong with turning out to be like her. I had grown up wishing to be nothing less and as I sat there on the couch, my wish remained the same.
6
It had been almost three weeks since I'd seen Logan. Every couple of days I would get a text or call to keep me in the loop of his travels. The last one was 48 hours ago. It was a text, a simple one:
Behind the Strings Page 2
