CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The entire front yard is a hive of activity. Each of my moms squeals when they see me, running over to give me a group hug. Somebody must’ve told them to leave me alone when I was up in my room, because I can tell by this welcome that they were chomping at the bit to see me. It eases some of the pain in my chest.
They look amazing, just like Amber said. They each have a new hairstyle, all of them way more modern and attractive than what I’ve seen the whole time I’ve known them. Sally has even gotten rid of her braids, her hair so short now that there’s no chance of flyaway frizzies framing her face. I kind of miss her lost and confused look, actually. She’s still my mom, but then again, she’s kind of not anymore; she’s a sophisticated woman, very alive and animated, talking nonstop about their trip and the music. I can’t get a word in edgewise. They’re wearing new clothing, too; my mother Carol even has high heels on, which is a first as far as I can remember.
Several of the guests who are seasonal regulars are busy carrying platters of food out the front door. Rather than get caught up in greeting everyone else who got off the circus bus, I detach myself from the moms and walk back to the house and into the kitchen.
“Can I help?” I ask a man who’s turned away from me.
He spins around, and I find myself face-to-face with Greg Lister. I’m taken aback. What’s he doing here?
He points at the table in the middle of the room. “I think those dishes need to be taken outside.”
The last time I saw him, he was wearing a three-piece suit and driving a really fancy car, but today he’s in jeans and a collared shirt. I almost don’t recognize him. I walk past him, weirded out by his total change, grabbing the biggest casserole I can lift and taking it out without a word. It seems that nothing is the same anymore, not even the stuffed shirt.
Smitty comes to the door and smiles at me as I pass by. “Hello, Sleeping Beauty. You finally decided to join us, eh?”
Okay . . . so some things haven’t changed. Smitty is still underfoot and nosy. I pause to whisper loudly at him, “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been hanging out here since I was five, remember?” He shakes his head. “You have such a terrible memory.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re impossible.”
He acts like he’s trying to get around me but is trapped, jogging left and then right with big arm motions. I stand still and wait for him to stop being a fool, until he finally gives up and laughs, going around me. “Don’t trip on the stairs.”
I swear to God that guy is a curse. I never should’ve gone out with him. He’s like an annoying older brother, not dating material. Our one night in bed together was proof of that—a mistake I have worked for a couple years to forget without much success. I walk very carefully, almost worried that he’s put some kind of voodoo curse on me that’ll cause me to do a face-plant right in front of everybody. That would be just the icing I need on my cake for today.
There are five or six picnic tables all pushed together and covered in a motley mix of tablecloths. There’s already a lot of food out here and much more coming from the kitchen. I don’t know who put this thing together on such short notice, but it’s a heck of a feast. There’s a separate table with beverages and a cake. Somebody in a leather jacket is working the pump on a keg. I recognize him as the bass player in the band. I look away. I don’t want to see any of those men, and they’re so busy chatting among themselves they don’t even notice me.
I put the casserole down on the table and turn around to go back in the kitchen. I feel someone’s hand on my back and look over my shoulder, fearing who I’ll find there. But it’s Rose, and she grabs me into a quick hug. Relief floods through me.
“I’m so glad you came down,” she says next to my ear.
“Yeah, sure.”
She stops and looks closely at me, touching my cheek. “You’re not happy about it, but you’re here. That’s what’s important.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Shouldn’t you be hiding in your clinic?”
She gives me a disapproving look. “Neither one of us needs to do any hiding; you know that.” She links her arm with mine and marches us back up the stairs. “Come on, let’s bring more stuff out.”
Thankfully, we don’t have the time or the personal space to discuss it; I’m not in the mood to dredge up the conversations I’ve been having in my head. I just want this night to be over with. We spend the next ten minutes clearing out the kitchen and setting up the tables outside. Everyone but us five food runners is standing around in groups, waiting for the work to be finished. The band members are part of those groups, of course—the crown princes of Asshat Nation, too good to do manual labor. For men who claim to want to get to know me, they’re doing an awful good job of acting like they couldn’t care less about my presence.
All three of our mothers are also a part of the do-nothing group. Apparently, their two weeks in Japan have not only caused them to forget our community spirit, it also seems to have fanned the flames of their shared passion. Seeing the way they’re hanging on the band members, it’s easy to imagine that they were intimate again while on tour together—groupie love 2.0.
The mean-spirited part of me thinks it’s sad, how easy they are . . . how easy it is for them to forget the past as long as Red Hot is there whispering nonsense in their ears. But then the part of me that isn’t so mean, the part who loves my moms with all her heart, is glad to see them so happy. They deserve that. I just wish it wasn’t those turds making it happen for them.
“If everybody could grab a drink and take a seat, that would be great,” Amber yells out.
The crowd moves to follow her instructions, some of them headed for a seat at the tables and others to the beverage area. I make sure to choose a spot as far away from the band members and Lister as possible. They’re gathered on the far left end and I’m at the right. Sam is next to me and Sadie next to him. Rose is on my other side.
Amber chooses a seat across the table from us but doesn’t look at me. I think she’s avoiding eye contact, so I stare, willing her to look at me . . . willing her to explain herself. I know this is her doing, this big meal being served up family style, where everyone pretends everything is hunky-dory. She might think she’s created a Thanksgiving-type feast, but it feels more like a Last Supper to me.
Ignoring me completely, Amber stands behind her chair and grabs her drink, banging on it with her fork. Everyone pipes down and looks at her.
“I just want to thank everybody for coming tonight. We put this thing together at the last minute, but it looks like it turned out pretty well anyway. Thanks to all of our cooks.” She lifts her drink at several of the guests who apparently helped make the food. Everybody cheers except me.
“I want to issue a very special welcome to the members of Red Hot, my moms’ favorite band from waaaay back in the day.”
More cheers go up, but none of them are coming from me or Rose this time. I love the sister solidarity, especially because I thought it had gone forever.
“I’d also like to especially welcome Sam and Sadie.” She looks directly at them and then at me. Then she lifts her eyes to the group. “Sam is going to be doing some really exciting work with the band, and we’re thrilled he’s found a nice, tranquil place to do his thing. Welcome to Glenhollow Farms.”
She raises her drink to Sam, and he returns the gesture. He glances at me and puts his hand on my thigh, squeezing it a couple times before he takes a sip of his beer. I grudgingly lift my glass and do the same.
“I want to invite everybody to dig in, and then, after dinner, we have a really special surprise.” She looks out over the group of diners before resting her gaze on Sam. “Sam has agreed to play a new song for us. Something he just finished writing today.”
I nearly drop my glass, I’m so surprised. Sam lifts his beer at Amber and then at the band.
“You weren’t joking?” I ask softly.
He shakes his head. “I told you. Now’s your chance to give me my two hundred bucks.”
“What do you mean?” I hiss. “This isn’t the farmers’ market!”
“I play a song, you draw a picture. A deal’s a deal.” He winks at me.
“What?” Bamboozled. I’ve been totally bamboozled. And Amber’s in on it too, I know she is. She’s purposely avoiding eye contact with me, but I know she hears what he’s saying.
Sadie leans over and taps me on the arm. “Are you going to draw a picture?”
I want to say no, but she looks so excited, I force myself to smile. “Maybe?”
She grins big. “I want to make a picture too. Can I draw a picture with you?”
How can I say no to that? I look at Sam, but he’s shrugging. I don’t think he had anything to do with this part of the ambush. “Sure, Sadie,” I say, my heart shrinking down to the size of a raisin. “You can draw a picture with me.” In front of all these people. In front of them.
For the rest of the meal, I panic about exposing my innermost self to this huge group of strangers—not the least of whom are the daughter abandoners—while Sadie prattles on about what her picture will contain. By the time dessert comes, a warm apple cobbler served with vanilla ice cream, we know that her picture will include all of the animals on the farm and several of the people as well. I’m not sure I have a big enough piece of paper for her.
“You ready to rock ’n’ roll?” Sam asks, squeezing my thigh as he pushes his empty dessert plate away.
I elbow him in the ribs.
He jumps in surprise. “Yowza, watch the elbows, lady.” He’s rubbing his side as he smiles deviously at me. “What’s the matter? You nervous?”
I busy myself with folding my napkin and organizing the dirty dishes around me as I prepare myself to fight back. I feel like I’m going to vomit. “Nervous? Ha! You’d better have your game face on, butthead. I’m going to draw a kick-ass picture, no problem, but when you get up there in the limelight, you’re gonna freeze and not be able to sing your song, and then what are you gonna do? Pay me two hundred bucks, that’s what.”
I expect him to trash-talk me back, but nothing comes. I look at him and find stark fear on his face.
My heart plummets. I am a complete jackass, letting my nerves turn me into a spiteful witch. “Sam, I’m so sorry. I was only kidding. You’re going to be fine.”
He shakes his head and forces a smile. “What? Yeah. It’s fine. I’m cool. I’m totally going to win this bet.” He does not sound confident at all.
I want to comfort him and apologize a thousand times, but I know that’ll only make things worse. Without another word, I get up from the table as everybody else is finishing their dessert. As soon as I get inside the house, I run up the stairs to my bedroom and scramble through my bag until I find what I’m looking for.
I shove the two items I located into the pocket of a big jacket that I put over my shoulders. It’s getting cold outside and I’ll soon be freezing my buns off. I grab a sweater and a blanket for Sadie before heading downstairs and out to my painting studio.
I collect two canvases, a rag, several paintbrushes, two empty plastic cups, and several tubes of paint for me and Sadie. Neither of us is going to create a masterpiece tonight, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we show up. Sam needs us, and we’re not going to let him down. I bring all the stuff out to a clear area next to the picnic tables and set the canvases down, taking my time to balance them on chairs that serve as makeshift easels.
Sadie comes over, hopping like a bunny, her face glowing with excitement. “Is that for me? Is that for me?” She points at the canvas and squeals.
“Yep. Here.” I hand her the cups, hoping that giving her a job will help calm her down. “Go fill these halfway with water and then come right back. We need to get started soon before it gets too dark.”
She races off, yelling at the top of her lungs, “Water, water, water!”
There are enough adults around that I don’t need to worry about her accomplishing her mission. Instead, I focus on what I need to do, which is getting the acrylics ready for both of us.
I’m probably going to regret this; there’s going to be paint everywhere. But the important thing is that Sam is able to pull off his thing tonight. Just a few notes performed in public would be better than nothing, especially because the band is here. They need to see that he can deliver. Anything but silence followed by retreat will be a success in my book. I ignore my nerves, which are jangling, and my spiking blood pressure. I’ve been painting all my life. I can do this. I am not afraid. Okay, so I’m terrified. But I’m not going to let my fear stop me. Not this time.