CHAPTER TWELVE
Chelsea
I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen so much rain—probably during the hurricane. I ran my fingers through my hair, tangling it at the ends. The hurricane. The night Ben and I claimed each other like we would never come back from the place we found together. We didn’t want to come back.
I gripped my guitar and watched the rain splash in the puddles. I wondered if this kind of rain would flood the pond.
“You ready to write?” Quinn stepped through the studio doors.
I turned from the window. “Sure. Where do you want to start?”
“How about with that sad frown on your face? What’s wrong?” Quinn slid a cup of coffee into my free hand. “You look like you should be writing a your-dog-just-died kind of song.”
I giggled. “That sounds a little dramatic.”
“Haven’t you heard I’m extremely dramatic?” She laughed. “Seriously, what’s wrong? We can’t write if there’s something bothering you.”
I felt the tension ease out of my shoulders. I hadn’t shared my insecurities with anyone. “It’s ‘Benecca.’ Every time I turn around, there’s a picture or a clip of them.”
“Oh.” Quinn nodded. “I can see how that would get a girl down.”
“And it’s not like I’m actually jealous, because I know he’s with me.” I laid my guitar on the empty end of the couch, propped by pillows. “But, dammit. I don’t know how much more of it I can take.”
“What does Ben say about it?”
“He tries to prepare me for anything that’s going to be released so I have a heads up, but it doesn’t mean I like it any more. And then last night I guess a bunch of people from the set went out together and Rebecca was there, and then they got caught by the press when they left the bar.”
“Kind of like how they got us?”
“Yes, I guess it was like that.” I sipped the vanilla latte. “I know it doesn’t mean anything to him and he’s just trying to protect me, but I hate it.” I stared at Quinn. “I hate it. I think I hate her too.”
She leaned closer. “I’ve known Ben for a while.” I bristled at the reference—I still didn’t know how close their past was. There never seemed to be a good way to ask either of them. “And he’s the kind of guy who likes to take charge. He likes to call the shots. I guarantee you he doesn’t like this situation any more than you do.”
“I know, but it doesn’t change anything.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t, but you’ve got to give him some slack. At least he’s trying. I know he’d rather be here in Texas with you than out there. He hates L.A. He loves you.”
“Maybe our timing is off. We shouldn’t have met yet.”
“Don’t say that. You met exactly when you were supposed to.”
I sighed into my latte. Riding off into the sunset with my movie star was turning into more of an eclipse.
Quinn stood up. “You know what we need to do?”
“What?”
“We need a girls’ day.”
“But we have to finish the album.” I suddenly felt guilty for sabotaging our writing session. I knew Quinn’s time was precious.
“Whatever. We can do that later. We have to get you out of this funk. Heartbreak is one thing—that you can at least channel into music. Funk is the wasteland for creativity. We can’t have that.” She tugged on my arm. “Spa day on me—nails, hair, facials—the whole works. Come on!”
I reluctantly stood from the couch. “I guess.”
“I promise, by the end of the day, you’ll feel ten times better and will have a whole new outlook on this relationship crisis. Let’s go.”
Quinn turned off the lights behind us and pointed me toward the elevators.
***
I looked at my reflection in the salon mirror.
“So what do you want to do with it?” The stylist dumped my auburn strands on my shoulder.
“You know I think you should do something completely different.” Quinn piped in from the chair next to mine.
“Like what?” My hair had always looked the same.
“Oh, I know what would be a cute. You should do a chin-length bob.” She flipped through a hair magazine and pointed to a picture with a similar style.
“I can even add in some bangs,” my stylist offered. She swooped the front of my hair over my forehead to show me the effect of the look.
“Really? That sounds drastic.” I studied my hair. It already seemed like my highlights from the summer sun were fading. My locks were drab, just like this depressing rain. Maybe they were right.
“Definitely.” Quinn smiled. “I change my hair all the time. Keeps things interesting.”
“Ok, let’s do it.” I nodded at my stylist. “Give me a whole new look.”
“You got it.” She swiveled me in the chair, taking the mirror out of my view.
Two hours later, I admired the change in my appearance. I almost didn’t recognize the girl in the mirror. She looked older. Sophisticated. Glamorous.
“Holy shit, girl.” Quinn whistled. “That is the perfect hairstyle for you. I need that look next time.”
“You think?” I cupped the ends in my palm. They reached just below my chin. I shook my head feeling the new weightlessness. The bangs were shaggy and chunky.
“Absolutely. Now, come on. We have pedicures next. And there are cocktails.” She winked and bounced toward the next room in the spa.
I climbed out of the salon chair. My rainy-day funk was starting to evaporate.
***
I threw my bag into the recliner in the great room and turned on the TV. As soon as I saw the latest “Benecca” pictures, I turned to ESPN. Football coverage was welcome after all of that crap. I didn’t want anything spoiling my good mood. It had taken a full day of pampering to achieve.
My phone rang and I fished it out of my bag, turning the college football rundown on low volume.
“Derek! Hey.” I smiled and settled back into the leather chair. It had been weeks since I had talked to him.
“Hey, how’s it going?” His voice sounded tense.
“Something’s wrong. I can tell.” I realized it was odd he was calling at all. Things had gotten better between us, but we would never be the same. I missed the way it used to be when we were friends, before we had crossed the line. Thank God we hadn’t slept together. There may have been no recovering from that.
“I don’t know how to tell you this.”
“Just spit it out. Is everyone ok?” I was sure my parents would call if someone were sick.
“Yes and no.” There was a long pause before he continued. “There’s no easy way to say this. Everyone knows, Chelsea.”
“Knows? Knows what?” There was no way he was talking about this morning’s headline with Ben. No one on Brees Island cared what happened in Hollywood.
“They know about Eileen and your dad.”
The walls fell away and I blinked hard. “They know? Who knows?” I lifted my hand to run it through my hair, but it was all gone. I felt the emptiness when I got to my chin. Panic hit me. “My mom. Derek, tell me my mom doesn’t know.”
“That’s why I’m calling you. I thought you would want to know.”
“But how? Why?”
“Bertie caught them at Eileen’s shop when she went to pick up some gifts for her grandkids. She ran out of there so fast she got hit by a car backing out of a parking space. She had to be airlifted to Norfolk for leg surgery.”
“Oh my God.” I was trying to picture the scene.
“She was so surprised and in so much pain, she kept screaming about what she had seen in the shop. Everyone heard it. There was no way it wasn’t getting back to your mom at that point.”
“When did this happen? Have you seen her? How is she?”
“No, she’s still in recovery up in Norfolk.”
I tried to swallow my instant guilt. I was asking about my mom. I hadn’t thought to check on Bertie. “And my mom? What about her?’
“My parents haven’t seen her and neither have I. Do you want me to go over or something?”
“No!” I couldn’t imagine the embarrassment it would cause my mom if Derek showed up on her doorstep. “I’ll come home. I can be there tomorrow.”
I looked around the ranch. All I had to do was throw some things in a bag. I could catch a flight tomorrow, maybe even borrow the jet.
“Aren’t you kind of busy out there?” Derek asked.
I regretted the spa day with Quinn. We could have knocked out another song, but there wasn’t anything to be done. My mother needed me and I had to get home.
“It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing more important right now. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry I had to call you about this.” Derek’s voice was low.
“I’m glad you did. If anything comes up, let me know. Ok?”
“I will. See you soon.”
“Bye, Der.” I hung up the phone and raced up the stairs.
I started tossing clothes in my suitcase. I could barely see what I was packing. The tears were heavy and thick. I slid to the bathroom floor and buried my face in my hands. How could he do this? I sobbed. How could he ruin the safety my mother had? Destroy a life of memories? A life as a family?
All I could picture was my mother alone in our big house, hiding from the windows, wringing her hands with worry. Everyone in town feeling pity for her. My chest tightened, knowing that everyone who passed by would shake their head and think: “What a shame. Poor Cindy Davis. She didn’t see it coming.”
I curled into a ball and let the tears fall on the marble floor.