“Today we bury one of this generation’s best musicians, a rock legend, and a beloved father.”
The dark tint of my sunglasses hides my eyes as I struggle to not roll them at the formalities of today. I made it through the services yesterday, an ostentatious public event full of overinflated tales of the late Richie Sands. Maybe they even held some truth, but I wasn’t able to discern it through his shortcomings as a father. It was much easier for him to go through life a wild partier and wealthy rock star than an attentive and present dad.
I was here for my mother, though. She had been a wreck ever since his loss. She was and forever would be under the impression he loved only her. Insisted she was his one true love, despite the glaring reality he’d slept with countless other women.
Today’s burial is private. As difficult as it is to stand next to my mother and a few close friends and pretend I’m sad, the man who holds my hand makes all of this bearable. He never lets me go, not once, and his strength, protectiveness, and understanding without judgment ensure me I’m not the worst daughter on earth.
I’m dealing with the guilt for not feeling more. For not behaving in a way expected of a girl who just lost her father.
My dad’s remains are interred into the ground, and I have to wrap my arm around my mom’s shoulders to keep her standing. Sobs shake her body, and her wails draw everyone’s stare. I hate that too, but I’m working on it. On acceptance and empathy. I may not understand how she could love someone who treated her so poorly, but it doesn’t mean I don’t feel sorry for her. She’s always been this way. Bold, loud, and an oversharer. She has no inhibitions when it comes to sharing her grief with the world.
We stand there, the three of us, united until each of Dad’s close friends and business contacts offer their farewells and condolences—Trent at my side, and me at my mother’s. Once everyone is gone, my mom insists on staying until the workers return the dirt back to the Earth and cover the coffin. She’s completely drained, all her tears dried when they finally finish, and Trent takes her arm to help her into the waiting Town Car.
“Do you want me to ride with you?” I say.
“You’re leaving today?” she asks. I nod. “No, sweetheart. Doesn’t make sense when you’re heading to the airport. I have to get used to being alone, anyway.” Her lips tremble as they attempt a smile, and she holds her black clutch to her chest.
“Call me, though? I’ll visit when we get a break between shows.” I wrap my arms around her for a hug, and kiss her cheek before stepping back.
“Lexi. I’ll be fine. I’m stronger than you think. I’ve been doing this for years.” Her confidence surprises me after her nonstop crying today, but I guess she’s right. I underestimate her.
“Bye, Mrs. Mallory.” Trent hugs her next.
“Call me, Lori, remember. Take care of my girl on the road.” She pats his back before he steps out of her embrace.
“You have my word, Lori.”
Mom slides into the car and the driver shuts her door. We wave once more and turn away as the engine starts. The sound of the car window sliding open stops me, pulling my attention. Before Trent turns back to the car, Mom points at him and mouths the words, “Keep him.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head with a smile, actually grateful for her ridiculous infatuation with all front men with guitars. This is her normal Mom behavior. She’ll be okay without him.
“Lexi, one more thing.” My mom purses her lips together, and her stare darts between me and Trent, and finally rests on me. “There’s money.”
“I don’t want it.” The words fly from my mouth.
Her brows pull into a scowl. “Honey, it’s not up to you.”
“Mom, I don’t want it. Keep it. Give it away. I don’t care.” Because I don’t need it and I sure as hell don’t want anything else from him.
She pulls her lips into a tight line and I can tell she’s not gonna let this go. “Lexi, it’s not that easy. There’s a will. Lawyers.”
“Then I’ll deal with it later.”
She raises her brow and tilts her head. “Don’t you want to know how much?”
“No. I don’t.” I blow out a breath and strain for a smile, though I’m not quite sure it reaches my face. “I love you, Mom. Good-bye.”
Her eyes cloud with disappointment. Even in death she wants me to give him more than he ever deserved. “Bye, Lexi.”
I grip Trent’s hand and he weaves my fingers through his much larger ones. I relax into the strength he provides and exhale the anxiety I didn’t realize I was holding onto as the Town Car retreats.
Trent’s lips find the top of my head and he rests them there for a long moment. The cemetery is peaceful, beautiful in an unconventional way. A few people mill about, stopping at headstones or lost in reflection on one of the wooden benches. The solitude here is as warm as the sun beating through the clouds, and when Trent squeezes my hand I’m settled with the feeling that everything will be okay.
“You ready?” He tips his chin to where the car is parked.
“Yeah. What time does our flight leave?” I study the tips of my shoes as they traverse the gravel path.
“Not for another six hours.”
The label has been incredibly supportive, delaying the tour a week and rescheduling four shows. Now that the cat’s out of the bag that Richie Sands’ long-lost daughter is none other than up and coming rock sensation Lexi Marx, they’re getting a pretty good deal. Within hours, the final shows of the tour sold out and now they’re looking at extending it internationally. I should be ecstatic. It’s what every artist hopes for. Sold out shows and the promise of recognition, but I’m not. I wanted to do this on my own, and somehow this feels as if I’m cheating. As though I didn’t earn it. Everything from here on out will be tainted by my association to my father.
We reach our rental car and Trent reaches out to open my door but pauses, his gaze trained behind us where we lowered my father into his grave. “Do you know her?” He tilts his chin in the same direction and I follow his gaze.
The woman standing near the edge of the gravesite wears a simple fifties style knee-length dress with flat sandals. She wouldn’t stand out as much if it weren’t for the long, loose auburn curls flowing down her back as she holds perfectly still. I wonder who she is, how she knew my dad, and why she’s showing up a good hour after the service.
“I don’t.” I should probably leave. Get in the car with Trent and enjoy a leisurely meal before we catch our flight to meet up with the band in Florida. But something pulls me toward the woman. My feet tread through the rows of headstones and then I recognize her as the woman I spoke to after my show, weeks ago. “Opal?”
She jumps at my voice and her hand goes to her throat with a gasp.
“Opal,” I say again, my smile pulling wide at her familiar brown eyes, and I shake my head. “What are you doing here?”
“I . . . Um . . . I . . . Well, I just—” Her chest heaves with each word, and if possible, her eyes grow wider by the second.
“Breathe.” I reach out, and my hand steadies her arm in an attempt to ease her nerves. “Are you okay?”
Her gaze darts over my shoulder and she takes a step back as Trent’s arms snake around my waist. She holds her arms across her stomach, and her lips rub together before she takes a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here.” She turns to leave, but curiosity nags at my brain.
“Opal, wait!” I shout and she stops to turn, her face so full of worry, it appears she might break. “Are you okay?”
At my question she bursts into tears. Her hands cover her face as sobs escape and her shoulders shake with each suck of oxygen.
Trent looks between the two of us. A puzzled frown knits his brow, and I’m sure he’s wondering who she is. I’m thinking those exact thoughts. Even though she’s not my problem, my concern grows with each sob. I step closer until I can wrap an arm around her shoulder. She’s younger than me, I’d guess, but taller by a few inches. As soon as she feels my touch, her hands leave her face to wrap around my waist, her head resting on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she croaks between sobs. I pat her back to console this near stranger the best I can. She’s apologizing for something, though to whom or for what I have no idea.
Trent meets my gaze and mouths, “Who is she?”
I just shake my head because I still don’t know. “Opal. Opal, calm down. Tell me what’s going on and I’ll help you figure it out.” I rub her arms until she steps back and wipes the tears from her face.
She meets my gaze even though her chin trembles when she speaks. “I don’t think you can.”
“Try me. I’m tougher than I look.” I smile, hoping to earn a smile or laugh from her, but my words seem to upset her even more as her eyes fill with tears.
“I’m sorry.” She clears her throat. “I didn’t mean for you to see me. I didn’t mean for anyone to. I waited, but I should have stayed back longer. I was so stupid.”
“Opal, just tell me.” I interrupt because she’s not making any sense.
“I . . . I’m your sister,” she stutters and my whole world tilts.
“Pardon?” I heard the words; I just don’t understand.
“We’re half-sisters. Richie Sands is—or no, was—my father.” She meets my gaze, her eyes wide and so damn innocent. But still . . .
“How can that be? My dad never had any other children. I was his only. He told me so, over and over when I was a kid. And you’re what, eighteen, nineteen?”
“Seventeen.”
“Jesus.” I shake my head and pin her with a glare. “I don’t understand.”
“Richie never knew about me. My mother died after I was born and my granddaddy and grandma raised me. I only learned the truth a few years ago.” She tries to explain but it just doesn’t fit. Or rather, it seems a really convenient time to come forth.
“Is this about money?” I grit through my clenched jaw and her eyes go wide, as if my words actually hurt. She’s a damn good actress. I almost believe her.
“Gosh, no. I’d never. I only came to pay my respects. I didn’t even mean to ever see you again after Oklahoma. I just wanted to meet you that one time. I’m sorry, Lexi. You have your life and I don’t fit it in. I don’t expect anything.”
“Maybe you should leave now,” Trent interrupts and her face falls at his words.
She nods. “You’re right. I should go. I’m sorry, Lexi. I’m glad I met you, though.” She turns and walks away, stepping carefully around the headstones until she reaches the gravel path. We watch her until she’s out of sight.
“Shit,” Trent says, blowing out a rush of breath that hits my neck. “What do you make of that?”
I turn, glancing down at the freshly packed dirt and shake my head. “I almost believe her,” I admit, even though I’d rather not.
“What do you want to do about it?” Trent holds my hand and we walk from my father’s resting site until we reach our car. Opal is still out of sight, but unless her car is parked nearby, she couldn’t have gotten far.
“It’s crazy and stupid that I should care, right?” I secure my seatbelt and meet his stare.
“I’ve already told you, there’s no right way to deal with all this, Lex. I respect your choices, each and every one.” He pushes a button and the engine roars to life.
“Let’s go find her.”
His brow rises and he nods slowly, as if he didn’t expect that response and then turns his attention to the road. “Okay, then. Let’s go find your sister.” He grips the gear stick, shifts to drive, and lays on the gas. We lurch forward. I cover his hand with my own and he chances a sideways look to meet my gaze. Questions tumble inside my mind, but I have to see this through. He smiles, his eyes back on the road, and of all my uncertainties, he’s not one of them. He’s sticking by my side.
Opal’s silhouette comes into view and I point in case Trent didn’t notice. There are so many reasons she could be lying, that this is all a ruse. But if there’s a sliver of a chance . . . I voice my biggest concern. “If she really is my sister, I need to know.”