CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
As soon as I’m in my room, I call my sisters, but the phone just rings and rings, and neither of them answers. I think about my next move and realize there’s only one for me to make. I can’t just sit here in this hotel room wondering what I should do. I’ll walk around in circles and wear a hole in this expensive carpet. I call the house phone at the farm and wait for someone to pick up there.
“Yello.”
“Is this Barbara?”
“No, this is Carol. Amber?”
I nod. “Yes, it’s me.”
“What’s wrong? You sound like you’re crying.”
“I am.” I take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to control my emotions.
“What happened? Tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
She instantly goes tough on me. “I know you’re in New York City, and I know you’ve met with the band, so out with it.”
“They told you?” I didn’t think to instruct my sisters to keep our conversations to themselves. Is everyone going to be angry at me when I get back? All that thought does is make me cry harder.
“Yes, they’ve told us. And while we’re not thrilled with the idea that you went down there without saying anything to us, we understand.”
The load weighing on my heart lightens just a bit. “Okay, well that makes me feel a little better.”
“Are you upset because you thought we’d be mad at you?”
“No, it’s more than that.”
“Do you want to talk to me, or do you want to wait for your mom?”
“Is she around?”
“No, she went out to the store, and I don’t know when she’ll be back.”
“I guess I can talk to you.”
“So, I’m sloppy seconds, is that it?” I can hear the smile in her voice.
“No, it’s not like that at all. You know I love you just as much as I love Barbara.”
“I know, I was only teasing. Talk to me. Maybe I can help.”
“Well, I just had coffee with Red Wylde.”
“Really?” Her voice becomes all breathy and high-pitched. “How is he doing? How does he look? Does he look good? I’ll bet he does. What was he wearing?”
“Carol, if you’re going to go all fangirl on me right now, I’m not going to be able to have this conversation with you.”
Her tone becomes more subdued. “That’s all right, I get it. Just ignore me. I’m having a little moment, that’s all.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, he was very silly about you girls too. He said he really loves you. His memories of you are . . . fond.”
She doesn’t respond, but I can sense her intense emotions over the telephone line. I keep going so she won’t start crying.
“We were talking about the inheritance or settlement . . . whatever . . . that they’ve offered, which we turned down, but he said there’s more to the story than what you told us.”
A long sigh comes over the line before she responds. “Maybe there is.”
“What do you mean, maybe?” I’m not liking the feeling that’s welling up in me. I want to believe my mothers are innocent of any wrongdoing in this situation, that they did what they thought was best and weren’t being intentionally cruel to anyone involved.
“Well, there always is, isn’t there? There’re always two sides to every story. But we have never lied to you. Maybe by omission, but not directly.”
“I know that.” A piece of Red’s story leaks from my brain. “But maybe you don’t have the whole story.”
“What did he say about it?”
“I didn’t want to hear his baloney, so he didn’t say anything. But he did make me feel crappy about painting him as the bad guy.”
“Don’t they all?”
“All?”
“Yes. All men. In my experience they tell you the story that makes them look as good and innocent as possible. There’s a reason we chose to leave and not involve them in that decision, but it doesn’t make them bad guys, per se. It’s just . . . the way it had to be.”
“Maybe.” Carol’s responses leave me with the sense that I still only have part of the story, but this is not the time to dig deeper. “Anyway, he made me a different proposition.”
“Is this going to make me upset?” she asks, suspicion lacing her voice.
“I don’t think so. They’re having a bit of an image problem with this new band member they have, and they’ve asked me to help them out with it.”
“And how would you go about doing that?” She sounds surprised.
“Well, I would work as a consultant, I guess. It’s just for a couple weeks. I’m supposed to help them update their look.”
“You mean change the way they look physically?”
“Maybe. I haven’t really thought it through.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Which part? Changing their look or taking the job?”
“Either one. I mean, do you really want to leave here and live in New York City?”
“No, I don’t think so.” I feel like I’m lying to my mother. Do I want to live in New York City? Part of me is saying yes. My pulse quickens. I couldn’t. Not permanently. They need me on the farm.
“Hmmm . . . You just said think so,” Carol says.
Busted. “So? What does that matter?”
“You’re not a person to do anything by half measures or to waffle. When you say you don’t think so, that means you’re considering it.”
I sigh loudly, so frustrated with my confused brain and a mother who can read my mind better than I can. “Maybe I am. I don’t know. I’m very mixed-up right now.”
“Does this have anything to do with that lead guitarist, by any chance?”
“No,” I scoff. Ridiculous. “Why would it?”
Her voice takes on a teasing tone. “I don’t know. I hear he’s pretty cute. And I hear he’s been spending some time with you, too.”
“Listen, I’m not a groupie, okay? I’m not going to fall in love with the lead guitarist for Red Hot, unlike some people.”
“That’s not funny.”
“And neither is you teasing me about falling in love with some guitarist I don’t even know.”
“Is he really that bad?” She sounds sad about the idea.
This conversation is exhausting. “I don’t know. No. Maybe. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“Okay. Well . . . did I help you at all? I’m not sure I have.”
“I don’t know. But I need to make a decision soon about what I’m going to do. If I’m going to help them out, I don’t want to go all the way back home and then come back here again. I’d like to just get it done and then fly home after.”
“You said it’s going to be a two-week thing. We can certainly handle anything that’s going on here for that period of time, so don’t worry about the farm. If that’s what your indecision is about, it’s a nonissue.”
“No, it’s not just my work on the farm or the hives or the market.”
“Tell me what it is, then. Just come right out and say it.”
I blurt out the thought that keeps trying to hide from me. “I don’t want to get attached.”
“To whom?”
“To anyone!” I yell. “I get it, okay? I can see how you and my mom and Sally got wrapped up in this stuff all those years ago! They’re nice guys when they want to be. And they’re interesting. And they’re talented.” I hate admitting that. I don’t like their music now any more than I did before, but after having met them, it has more meaning to me. And knowing that my moms were around when they wrote their best music that Ty plays so well only enhances that emotion. I can still picture him up on that stage, and the image makes my heart skip out of rhythm.
“I know, I know,” she says wistfully. “I get it.”
“But these men didn’t want us,” I say, close to weeping again. “They let all of us go.”
Carol says nothing to that.
“So why should I give them the time of day? Why should I help them out? I should spend two weeks trying to destroy their band, not help it.”
“Come on, Amber,” she scolds softly, “we didn’t raise you to be like that.”
“I know. And that pisses me off too.”
She laughs. “Why?”
“Because. That would be justice, for me to do something mean like that . . . and I like things to be fair.”
“Oh, come on . . . First of all, two wrongs don’t make a right; we’ve always taught you that. And second of all, since when is life ever fair? Life is never fair. In fact, if life starts being fair, you’d better watch your backside because karma is coming for ya.”
“Why does it have to be like that?”
“Because . . . if life were fair all the time and you never had any obstacles or things to surmount, it would be incredibly boring and you wouldn’t want to go on anymore.”
I let that sink in for a few seconds. She’s probably right. She always is. And even if I disagreed, I don’t have the juice left in me to argue about it. “You’ve given me some things to think about. How about I call you guys later?”
“Just don’t forget one thing,” Carol says.
“What’s that?”
“Remember that we love and support you, which means we trust that whatever decision you make is going to be in your best interests, because you’re smart, you’re strong, and you’re nobody’s fool.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I wish I shared it.”
“You do, though! You know what you’re all about. You’re not going to fall for any big-city nonsense. And you’re not going to fall for the groupie bullshit either. You’re smarter than we were.”
I almost don’t want to say this, but I need to be up-front with her. “What if I do think the guitarist is really cute?”
“Big deal. So he’s cute. Love is not just about looks, and you know that. Remember, life on the road is not easy. These men sacrifice a lot. And anyone who’s going to be with them on a permanent basis is going to have to sacrifice a lot too. It’s why we left. If you go into this thing with your eyes open and you know what’s what, then you’re less likely to get hurt. Your moms and I were very naïve when we were your age, and we were younger than you are when we were with them. We didn’t know our assholes from a hole in the ground back then. We’re older and wiser now, but we did a lot of stupid shit back in the day.”
“Do you think me staying here and working with them for two weeks is a stupid thing to do?”
“No. Honestly, I think it will be good for you and a lot of fun. You’ve spent way too many years here on the farm, and you almost never get out. Since college, anyway, and even then, you were so close and always came home on breaks and did nothing off the farm. It’s not natural for someone your age.”
“Hey! Whose fault is that?” I’m a little offended that my sacrifice is being painted as me being unnatural.
“Yes, I know we raised you here and we homeschooled you long before it was the hip thing to do, but you’re twenty-four years old now. You could’ve left a long time ago.”
“I would never.” I can’t believe I’m hearing her say this. I know I could have left, but I didn’t because of them . . . and because of my sisters and the animals and the farm. It felt like the whole world was against us sometimes, and it was only through our shared strength that we made it. What kind of person would I be if I’d left them behind just to make myself happy?
“Well, maybe you should think about taking a break from Glenhollow so you can see how the other half lives.”
My head is spinning. It’s like she’s giving me a permission slip to abandon the family. “I don’t want to be a part of the other half. People who have a lot of money are assholes.”
“Not necessarily. You can do a lot of good things with money. And I’m not telling you to take the money they’re offering, because I’m sure it comes with strings, but stay there for a couple weeks and do your thing. They’re going to pay you something for your work, right? Maybe do a little shopping. Eat in some cool restaurants. And make sure you send us pictures.”
“I’m not sure I’m going to take the job.”
“Okay, but if you do, then do everything I just said.” She laughs.
“Would you tell Rose and Em that I called?”
“Yes, I will tell your Siamese twins that you called, and I will fill them in on what you said. I know they’re working on getting you a ticket. I told them to get one that’s open-ended, though, so don’t worry about what date you decide to come back. It’ll all work out.”
“Oh. Wow. Okay.” I pause, one more thing on my mind that I need to fix. “Are you mad at me that I left without talking to you first?”
“Not at all. It’s about time you guys got your own lives and did what you needed to do without asking your mommies for permission.”
I’m more than a little stunned by her answer. They’ve been so protective of us all our lives, and I’m positive they were grateful when I decided to stay rather than start my life elsewhere. “Why the change of heart? Why are you suddenly so willing to let us go?”
She lets out a long sigh. “Your mothers and I have had several long talks since that lawyer visited. We realize that we’ve made some mistakes. I think we’re ready to own up to that now. You and your sisters have been pretty sheltered, and we thought we were doing the right thing raising you that way, but now, we’re thinking maybe we should have done things a little differently.”
“Because of the money?”
“No, it has nothing to do with the money. But it has everything to do with your attitude about men and your fathers.”
“The abandoners, you mean.”
“Yes, but I don’t think it’s fair, for the record, that you call them that. Remember, we left without saying a word to them. Ted and Darrell knew, but not the others. Who knows what would’ve happened if we’d had a conversation with them first, before we decided to leave. We thought we knew how they’d react based on things they’d said about kids and wives before we got pregnant, and we thought we knew what the consequences of staying would be for all of us, but how could we have? We were so sure back then, so full of our vision for our lives . . . so ignorant . . .” She sighs heavily. “It’s too late to wonder about the what-ifs now, but do me a favor and keep this stuff in mind. Twenty-five years ago, we made a decision that impacted everyone, and at the time, it seemed like the right one. But as you get older, you look back on the things that you did and the choices you made, and you wonder if they were the right ones.”
“That’s funny you say that . . . Red said the exact same thing to me this morning.”
“I always did love that man,” she says almost sadly.
That’s it. If I do take this job, I’m going to make sure my mothers see their groupie crushes at least one more time before they die. It’s ridiculous that these longtime fans and old-fart musicians think about one another with such fondness but don’t even bother picking up the telephone.
I’m a little closer to making a decision, thanks to Carol, but I really need to speak with two more people who I pray will try to talk me out of it. “I’ll wait for Rose and Em to call me before I make any decisions.”
“You are your own woman, Amber. You don’t need to get permission from them any more than you need to get permission from your mothers.”
“I know. Thanks, Carol. I love you.”
“Love you too, kid. Chin up. Life is meant to be exciting. Go live it.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and disconnect the call, imagining the look on Carol’s face as she hangs up on her end of the line. She’s tough, but she has a very soft center, and I’ll bet she’s crying.
Regret sucks. I can’t even imagine how much of it our mothers are living with right now. I don’t want to end up like them—in my forties and wishing I’d made different choices when I was younger.