CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Chelsea
“They’ve been sitting by the mailbox for two days.” My mom looked out the kitchen window toward the cove. “What’s so interesting about my tomatoes?” She laughed and sat next to me.
“I don’t think it has anything to do with your tomatoes, Mom, and everything to do with me.” I sighed as she refilled a tall glass of ice tea. It was too hot for anything else.
“Your father did say that the store is doing really well. All of these reporters have stocked up on souvenirs. It’s like they’ve never been to the beach before.”
We both looked at the three guys sitting across the street from my parents’ driveway. They were equipped with cameras, sandwiches, and bottled water.
My mother continued, “You know, I would have gladly driven over to the McIntire’s to see you. You didn’t need to come over.”
“I couldn’t stay cooped up any longer. Besides, Derek is hovering.”
“But didn’t Ben want you to stay put?” She looked at me.
It was strange how everyone was so comfortable using his new name. It was Jake. His name used to be Jake. “He doesn’t dictate what I do. If I want to see my mother, I’m going to see my mother.” I huffed, realizing I had reverted to my teenage rebellion voice.
“Of course, honey, but he knows this stuff much better than we do. He’s used to all the cameras and the questions. Maybe you should listen to him.”
“I’m not interested in what he has to say.” I also wasn’t interested in listening to anyone defending him. “Do you mind if I check my email?”
“Oh, sure. Use Dad’s computer in the study. I’ll start on some lunch for us.” She cleared the ice tea pitcher and placed it in the refrigerator. “Dad should be here in thirty minutes or so.”
“Thanks.” I watched my mother bustling through the kitchen, setting out the preparations for her homemade chicken salad. She looked content, calm, and most of all happy. She was making lunch for her daughter and hard-working husband, oblivious to the lies their relationship was built upon.
I turned for the study, pushing the parallels my mind was drawing between myself and my mother out of my mind.
When I awakened for the second morning at the beach house, I remembered the email Brandon Edwards was supposed to send. Since the paparazzi invasion, I hadn’t checked my email once If there was a contract, I needed to print it out and read through it. Nothing was certain anymore. I didn’t know if I would sign, if I wanted it, or if any of it was real. I knew that regardless of Ben, I did want to write music again. I couldn’t start that by burning a bridge with Blue Steel Records. Brandon would need an answer.
I hit print on the document and waited for the pages to feed through my father’s printer. They landed lightly in my hands as I watched the twenty-page document materialize.
“Oh, hi, sweetheart. Mom told me you were in here.” My father stood in the doorway of his study. “How are you holding up?”
I sighed. “Ok. I guess.” I shuffled the edge of the contract against the desk, evening up the edges.
“What do you have there?” He pointed at the document.
I knew my father wouldn’t understand much less support an endeavor with the recording company. He always pointed out what a waste of time it was spending days off writing music. Suddenly, I felt reckless. I felt the need to push back.
“It’s a contract with a company in Austin. They want to buy three of my songs and hire me as a full-time writer.” It was the slap I had wanted to deliver to him for months.
Taking his time, he walked to the leather recliner in the corner of his office and lowered into the seat. “Is that right?”
“Yes, and Quinn Jansen wants to record them.” That was the best part, but my father wouldn’t even know who Quinn Jansen was until her songs landed on the adult contemporary station.
He rubbed the armrests of the chair as if that would help him digest the information. “And you’re going to sign the contract and move to Austin?” He didn’t sound angry.
I was confused. Why wasn’t he angry? Why wasn’t he annoyed that I was trying to leave?
“I’m thinking about it. I haven’t even read it yet.” I held up the pages.
“And how much of this has to do with the guy?”
I lowered my eyes. I was slightly relieved he hadn’t given him a name, even though we both knew which guy. The contract had everything and nothing to do with him. I wrote the songs, they were mine, and I knew Quinn Jansen wouldn’t record something if she didn’t love it. However, the demon on my other shoulder told me it was all smoke and mirrors. The only reason that contract was in my hand was because Ben called in a favor with a football buddy. Maybe Quinn was all part of the plot to reel me in farther.
I wiped at my eyes. My father could not see me cry. “I don’t know. I don’t know if any of it is real.” There. I said the words out loud that I had slammed behind a trap door.
“Let me take a look.” He motioned toward my hand. “I’ll look it over.” He reached in his front pocket and slid his reading glasses over his nose.
I handed him the Blue Steel contract and slumped into the seat.
“Hand me my pen. Top drawer.”
I searched the desk for the blue ink pen monogrammed with Hayden Davis and passed it to him.
He circled something on the first page, flipped a few pages, and made an X. I stretched toward him, trying to identify the parts of the verbiage he was marking.
After fifteen minutes, he stacked his glasses on his head. “All right, so it looks like a pretty good deal, but I’ve made some notes for you. The first is that you should have a base salary, and then a stipend for each song you produce instead of paid per song. I don’t want you in Austin without steady income in your pocket. That’s just too damn stressful.”
My eyes widened like saucers. “Wh-what?”
“And then, I marked on here where you need to have full control over the artists who perform your songs. It’s your music. You get to decide. Anything less than that and I don’t think you’d be happy.”
He handed me the contract.
“But—you’re ok with this?” I looked at the pages in my hand with my father’s notes scribbled in the margins. “Where is the lecture?”
“Your mother and I talked.” He sighed. “Ok, your mother talked and I listened. But I heard her point. She’s right. She always is.” He chuckled. “I know you’re not happy at the store. You’ve never been happy at the store. So, maybe you can go do this and work it out so you spend summers at home or travel back and forth. Or maybe in a few years, after you have number one hits out there, you’ll come back to the island and retire so you can be the music teacher at the school.” He smiled at me. “This is the time in your life to figure those things out. Chelsea, I didn’t get that chance. Your grandfather had me training and working in the store. It was a given that it would be mine one day. I don’t know if there is something else I could have done or been good at doing.” He paused, heavy with words. I had never heard my father speak like this before. “This is what your gift is. And we—um—I’m not going to stop you.” I thought his eyes looked misty. “It’s a legitimate contract. I think you should get those changes made and sign it.”
Part of me wanted to sit and hear more of his thoughts. He never opened up about the store or the choices he made at my age. It was hard to think of your parents being twenty-three.
“Really? You’re really ok with this?” I was dumbfounded.
“Yep. We’ll even help you move. Make it a family vacation. I’ve never been to Texas.” He stood from the chair, folding his glasses in half.
I laid the contract on the desk. It hadn’t happened in months, but I threw my arms around my father’s neck and hugged him.
He patted me on the back. “All right, Mom’s got chicken salad for us. Let’s go tell her the news. She hasn’t been on a vacation in years. I can’t wait for you to put that smile on her face.” He walked out of the office.
I had never been more confused in my life. I left the contract and joined my parents for ice tea and chicken salad, like life was normal, serene, and perfect.