CHAPTER FOUR
**
I was worthless after those texts. As hard as I tried to put the exchange out of my mind, it kept creeping back in, and I was relieved when my shift ended. Then the butterflies set in. What if it was an article about his engagement to a gorgeous young woman…even worse, what if—as I pulled into my mom’s drive, I slammed the gear shifter into park, and fired off a quick text before heading inside:
Please tell me it’s not an obituary or a wedding announcement.
Would I do that to you? Hell no, it isn’t anything like that.
Thank God.
You on your way yet?
Just got to Mom’s.
Well, hurry.
I tried to hurry, but James and I have a ritual—and if I deviate from it, I’d better have a very good reason, so as I entered the front door, I knelt down and held out my arms. “Where’s my favorite guy in the whole wide world?”
“Just the world?” He peeked at me from around the corner. As it always did, the combination of those sparkling green eyes, dimple-filled chubby baby cheeks and mop of brown curls wrapped around my heart and squeezed.
“The universe?” I tipped my head to the side. “The galaxy?”
“Mommy!” He threw himself across the room and into my arms.
“My baby!” I cuddled him close and rained kisses across his plump cheeks.
“No, Mommy!” He struggled free and put his tiny fists on his hips. “It’s James—I’m not a baby…I’m a big boy. I’m four, now.” He held up four chubby fingers.
“Does my big boy want to go for a ride?”
“Where?” He eyed me with suspicion.
“Wanna go see Aunt Lucy?”
“At her house?” His little eyes narrowed.
“Yes, at her house.”
“Promise?”
I held up my fingers, “Scout’s honor.”
“No shots?” He scrunched up his little face, the threat of tears lurking at the corners of his eyes.
“No shots,” I agreed, regretting tricking him the last time we went for vaccinations.
He debated my words for a few minutes. Coming to a decision, he nodded, a broad grin stretching his lips wide, and took off toward the kitchen, yelling at the top of his lungs, “Grandma, grandma, guess what—we’re going to Aunt Lucy’s—and it won’t be the mean shot place, cuz Mommy promised—Grandma, grandma!”
My mom walked through the door James had disappeared through moments before. “I guess that would be a definite no on coming to church with me tonight, huh?”
“Was I supposed to go?”
“You said you’d think about it.”
I thought back. “The singles mingle?”
“You say it like it’s a fate worse than death.”
“Maybe it is. I tried love once. It didn’t work out—now, I just want to concentrate on raising my child, doing my best at my job, and helping you out as you get older.”
“Callie, honey, you were barely eighteen, and it was one night. That hardly qualifies as love. You only just turned twenty-three. No one expects you to spend the rest of your life alone, simply because of one bad experience—“
“Except it wasn’t bad, Mom. It was wonderful, and earth shattering, and it gave me my son.” I scooped him up and buried my nose in his baby soft curls. “I’d go back and do it all over again, even if I knew how things would turn out. I don’t regret a single second.” I hugged her close with my free arm. “Go have fun with your church group. I’m sure all of you will have a blast, matchmaking with all the singles who are there because they’re looking for love.”
Five minutes later, I pulled into a driveway that was even more familiar than my own. It was just around the block from my recently purchased home and my mother’s, which was conveniently located right next door to me. Unsurprised to find Lucy standing in the doorway, her cafe au lait complexion and cinnamon curls glowing in the golden shimmer of the setting sun, I waved.
“What part of hurry did you take issue with?” she asked, blowing me a raspberry. “I’m going crazy, dying to show you what I discovered, and you come waltzing in two whole hours later.”
“Maybe not two whole hours later.” I laughed at her. “Truth fudger.”
“Mmm, fudge.” She closed her eyes. “That sounds so good, right now.”
“Isn’t there a container in your freezer?”
“Shut up! Don’t remind me—I’m trying so hard to forget it’s there until after my cousin’s wedding. Even a glimpse will add five pounds—a sniff, ten. And a bite?” She threw back her head and laughed maniacally.
“Why are you so determined to lose weight for this wedding?”
“Forgot already?” She reached out to take James from me, “That little hussy’s marrying my soulmate. I want to remind him of what he lost.”
“Are you talking about Ray? Didn’t you dump him because he had anger issues?”
“So? He was gonna come crawling back, eventually—begging for forgiveness, promising to change, realizing how wonderful I am and how lucky he was to have me.”
“And how long would it last? How long until the next time he got mad over nothing—and ended up killing you instead of merely blacking your eye or putting you in the hospital?”
“I know.” She dabbed the corners of her eyes with her sleeve. “You’re right. I’m looking back with rose colored glasses. Maybe I will have the damn fudge—the whole bowl. Come on—time to change the subject. Let me show you what I found. You’re not gonna believe it.”
We stepped inside the small three-bedroom ranch style home where she’d grown up, and that her father’s mother left her in her will four years back. The first thing I noticed was a new Thomas the tank train set taking up part of the living room floor.
“More toys?” I crossed my arms. “Really?”
“It’s your fault. You made me his godmother—if his godmother can’t buy him toys, who can?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Lucy, godmother isn’t short for fairy godmother—you realize that, don’t you? You spoil him rotten. If he even looks at a toy sideways, you run out and buy it for him. What are you going to do when he’s sixteen, with his driver’s license, drooling over expensive sports cars? You gonna buy one for him, and pay the insurance on it, too? Cuz I’m not.”
“Party pooper—look at him. He’s having a blast…and now we can sit down on the couch without interruptions. Come over here.” She woke her laptop and turned it toward me. “Sit. Read.”
“Fine. What am I looking at?”
“It’s a website that interviews hot new artists. I’ve had feelers out for a while, searching for any information on a Jessie Robertson, and—“
“I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“I know. I took it upon myself after I saw how hurt you were.”
“You should have asked me, Lucy! I knew what I was getting into.”
“Fine! Next time, I’ll ask permission first.” She sat there shaking, scowling, visibly upset. “But, since I already found something, are you gonna read the goddamn article, or am I gonna have to sit on your stomach and read it to you myself?”
I reached out and grabbed her hand. “Lucy, I didn’t mean to hurt—“
“I’m not hurt…I’m irritated—even annoyed, but not hurt. Are you going to read the damn thing or did I blow five hundred big ones for nothing?”
My jaw hit the floor. “You paid someone five hundred—“
“Yes. Yes—and it was worth it,” she interrupted me, “Or it will be, if you ever read the fu—“
“Language!” I looked over at my little mimic as I lifted the computer into my lap.
“Sorry.” I could feel her eyes on my face as I skimmed the interview, but she never interrupted even once, though she was vibrating with so much excitement as I got closer to the end, she made the whole couch tremble. After I sat up, she leaned in closer. “Well?”
“Well, what? He’s single, by choice, because his heart was taken by an innocent girl in a small town, early in his career—doesn’t mean it was me.”
“Well, what about this—“ She clicked on a different tab and read, “Who is the mysterious Callie in Louisiana, who stole Jessie’s heart, much to the irritation of thousands of willing women across our fine country? Ten thousand dollars to the first person who can give us the four one one on this mystery lady we’ve dubbed Jessie’s Girl.”
I stared at her. “Did you—?”
“Hell no, I didn’t sell you out, silly girl. What kind of person do you think I am?”
I didn’t think you would, but…” I shrugged.
“Doesn’t hurt to ask for reassurance.” She grinned. “Want to hear his first single?”
“He has a single?” She nodded, and I shrugged, striving for a casual mien. “Sure. Why not—I know you’re probably dying to share it with me.”
“Look at you—Miss Bitch, her royal highness, the Ice Queen, trying to act like you don’t care, and shit, when you know you dying to hear it.”
“Language!”
She covered her mouth with both hands, then whispered, “Sorry.” Placing her iPod in its dock on her Bose speaker, she hit play. Moments later, as the music and lyrics surrounded me, weaving their spell, I recognized the tune.
I was floored. Flummoxed. “A-a-are you sure? I love this song. I’ve been listening on my radio, trying to catch a name and song title. How did you—?”
“I have my sources.” Then she dropped another bomb on me. “He’s playing at The Blue Orchid in New Orleans, two weeks from tomorrow. I bought tickets, planning to go with you…but it’s looking like I’ll have to work that night.”