AFTER SOPHIE DRIVES OFF, I forget what I was doing before she stepped into the barn and flipped my world upside down. I don’t want to face Kay. If she saw Sophie drive up, I don’t want to field questions from her, because I don’t know a fucking answer to anything right now.
So, I bail.
Climbing in the cab of my beat up truck, I crank the engine and pump the gas until it roars to life.
When I turn out of the dirt drive onto the gravel road, instead of turning right, the way to the Landry’s and the highway, I turn left and head for the old road that dead ends at the river.
I need to be alone. I need room to think.
The short five minute drive is done on auto-pilot. My hands and feet know these roads. They know how to get me home half-sober. They know every pothole and secret spot. And thankfully, they remember how to get to the river, because I can honestly say, I’m not all here. Sure, I’m breathing, but that’s about it.
My brain is taking up too much energy, spinning with the information Sophie just dropped on me like a fucking bomb.
When the river is in front of me, I hit the brake a little too hard and the truck sputters and then dies, but it’s okay, because I made it.
The water is peacefully flowing in front of me, moving along without a care in the world and I want to scream at it for being so fucking calm. So, I do. I push the truck door open and jump out, slamming it behind me. With everything I have in me, I scream and yell, my voice getting swept away with the wind and the water. I let the river have it, every emotion flooding my body—disbelief, hurt, anger, sadness. So much fucking sadness.
Life isn’t fair.
Everyone has their fair share of struggles.
I already knew that, but for fuck’s sake, this feels like more than a fair share.
Sophie doesn’t deserve cancer. Nobody fucking does.
Sammy doesn’t deserve to lose her mom.
As for me, I’m not sure what I deserve.
There was a time when I thought I’d be the one to die young. The way I’ve lived life up until a few months ago was full-throttle, no-holds-barred. I’ve always approached life with vigor.
My mama lived a good life, always played by the rules and did everything she was supposed to do. She was a good wife, a great mom, a loyal friend . . . she went to church every Sunday and prayed every night. I figured if God would take her, he’d take anybody. So, I wanted to live like I was dying, because we’re all going to at some point.
None of this makes sense.
After I finish yelling at the river, my throat aching and my lungs screaming from exhaustion, I walk back to my truck and dig under my seat, finding an emergency stash of Crown Royal. Unscrewing the cap, I put the bottle to my lips and toss it back, drinking until the burn is too much to handle.
It’s not good, but at least I feel it.
The warm liquid begins to infiltrate my body and the numbness that was taking over begins to fade.
For most people, what I just drank would be enough to make them tipsy, if not drunk, in a matter of minutes, but I’ve built up a nice tolerance over the years. It’s just enough to take the edge off and help clear my head, but it doesn’t do shit for all of the questions churning in my brain.
Sitting down in the dirt, facing the river, I lean against the front of my truck and continue to take sips off the bottle, willing answers to fall from the fucking sky.
At some point, I must fall asleep, because the vibration in my back pocket where I keep my phone, has me nearly jumping off the ground. Looking around, it takes me a second to remember where I am.
The river.
And then the fresh memory of Sophie comes flooding back.
I wipe my eyes, rubbing them to try and get the fog to clear.
When I pull my phone out, I have a message from No Caller ID, aka Piper.
Part of me wants to open the message and lose myself in the nonsense bullshit we usually talk about, but the other part of me can’t. I can’t pretend. And Piper doesn’t want to hear all of the shit that’s running through my head right now. That’s not how we do things. Ignoring the text, I put the phone back in my pocket and get up off the ground, dusting my pants off and stretching my sore muscles.
I’m not as young as I used to be, and that hard ass ground is a stark reminder.
There were days gone by that I could’ve slept there and woke up feeling like a million bucks, but not now. I’m too old for that shit.
Instead, I climb back in my truck and sit there until the sun goes down.
When I finally drive back to the farm, I don’t stop in the living room or go to the kitchen to see what I missed for dinner. I can’t talk to my dad or Kay. I need a little more time to figure shit out before I do.
The night is restless. I spend it tossing and turning, and what little bit of intermittent sleep I manage is riddled with dreams of a little girl with pale blue eyes. Each time, she’s alone and crying and I try to get to her, but I can’t. And each time, I end up jolting awake, with my heart trying to pound its way out of my chest.
Before the sun has a chance to rise, I hear my dad’s bedroom door creak open and then his footsteps pass down the hall, briefly pausing at my door.
I lie in bed, waiting until I hear the front door open downstairs before I get out of bed and throw on my jeans and a hoodie. I can feel the chill in the air, even from inside. The coolness seeps right through the old wood of the house. Without carpet on the floors, there’s not a lot of insulation, which typically is great in Louisiana. But on the few days of the year, when the temps actually feel like winter, it’s freezing, especially for us warm-blooded southerners.
Sneaking my way past the kitchen, not even glancing to see if Kay is in there, I hurry onto the porch and put my boots on as I’m walking to my truck.
I need to talk to someone and the only person I can think of, who won’t judge me or my feelings, is my sister. Plus, she’s really good at coming up with solutions to difficult situations. She’s had plenty of practice. Even though I’m older, I’d say she’s definitely wiser.
Hopefully, she’ll be able to help me figure my shit out.
On my way into town, I pass the big house and a vision hits me so clearly, kind of like when I’m writing a song and a brilliant lyric comes to my mind. I see a little girl running down the tree-lined lane and I have to stop my truck in the middle of the road.
What the fuck is happening to me?
Leaning over on the steering wheel, I close my eyes and try to get a grip.
Tires crunching pulls me upright in my seat.
When I see Sam’s car pull up behind me and then inch up to the side of my truck, I cringe. I don’t know if I have it in me to put on a fake smile and bullshit my way out of this, but I’m going to try.
Rolling down my window, I give him my best smile and wave.
“Tucker,” he says, with his own, much more genuine smile. “Everything alright?”
“Oh, yeah.” I look down at my dashboard and then laugh lightly. “Old trucks, ya know?”
“Havin’ trouble?”
God, am I.
“Just a little.”
“Need some help?” he asks, because that’s Sam Landry. Even in his suit and tie, briefcase in hand, he’s willing to get out and help someone on the side of the road. If it hadn’t been me, he still would’ve stopped.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Bring it over to the house later, we’ll pop the hood and give it a look,” he instructs. “And if you’re hungry, Annie’s got a fresh batch of muffins she just took out of the oven. Carter’s over this mornin’. Cami just dropped him off.”
“Actually, she’s who I’m headed to see.”
“Alright, well, I guess I’ll get on down the road.”
“Have a good day,” I tell him, waving him on.
After he’s around me and on his way, I fall in behind him, following him to the main road.
Something inside me eats away and part of me wants to follow Sam to Baton Rouge and apologize for not telling the truth, even though he bought it and probably won’t think another thing about it.
As I pass the church, I consider a mid-week confession, but Cami will have to do, for now.
I can actually say this is probably my first time to be downtown French Settlement this early in the morning. Downtown, as in, the main drag, not downtown, as in, hopping little juke joints and fancy restaurants. That’s Baton Rouge and New Orleans, not French Settlement.
The only thing this downtown has to offer is a few small shops, like my sister’s art studio, the post office . . . and the bank, which happens to be where the busybodies of French Settlement go to dish on the latest gossip.
I’m sure I’ve been the topic of their conversation recently, if for no other reason than the fact that I’m back in town. With a place this small, it doesn’t take much to get the rumor mill turning. I don’t care what they have to say about me. It’s never mattered or bothered me. I figure if they’re talking about me, someone else is getting a break.
However, I wouldn’t trade living here for anywhere else in the world. It’s home and it’s comfortable. Over the years, I’ve realized that even the busybodies and old gossips are part of what make a small town what it is.
Parking my truck, I can’t help the smile on my face. This early in the morning, the only people out and about are a few old men in overalls sitting on a bench drinking coffee. There are large potted plants full of fall color and a few of the shop doors are open, inviting in the morning breeze.
I love that Cami chose this place for her studio. It fits her.
The little bakery across the street has an open sign in the window, so I decide to run over and get a coffee and whatever else they might have to offer, anything to sweeten my surprise visit. I’m going to need all the help I can get this morning.
“Good mornin’,” Mrs. Martin says from behind the counter.
“Mornin’, Mrs. Martin.” I tip my head to her and offer a smile.
“Been a while since I’ve seen you around here. Thought you were off becomin’ a big rock star?”
“Yeah,” I start, scratching my head at the way that sounds so crazy now. Rock stars. Gigs. Bars and venues. All of that seems worlds away. “I decided I needed to slow things down for a bit.”
“Good for you,” she says with a nod, like she completely understands what I’m talking about. “One of these honey buns would be good for ya too. You’re lookin’ a little skinny.”
I laugh and nod. “Alright, I’ll take two honey buns.”
“Goin’ to visit your sister?”
As I was saying, gotta love small towns.
“Yes, ma’am.” I take out my wallet and pull out some money. “I’ll have a coffee too, please, and . . .”
“Cami likes chocolate milk. I make it special for her.”
“Okay, then. A coffee and a chocolate milk.”
After Mrs. Martin fixes me up, I walk back across the road to the Cami Benoit Studio.
I wonder if she felt as proud of me when she’d come to my shows and see my name on a billboard as I do of her when I pull up and see her name on this sign?
The front door is locked when I try the handle, but Cami must hear the noise from the back and comes to investigate, frowning when she sees me.
“You look like shit,” she says, opening the door.
“Well, good mornin’ to you too, sweetheart.”
“Sorry, I just . . . it’s been a while since I’ve seen you look so . . .”
“Shitty?” I ask, showing her the bag and the chocolate milk from Mrs. Martin.
“Did you not sleep last night or somethin’?”
“You could say that.”
“Somethin’ wrong?”
This is why I came to her, because she always knows. There’s no bullshitting with Cami. So, I knew I’d be forced to just come out with it.
“Yeah, you could say that,” I reply again.
“Sit, let me have my chocolate milk first and then you can talk.”
I laugh at how serious she seems about this milk and I do what she tells me to—I sit on the bright red sofa that stands out against the stark white wall behind it.
“Wow.” Taking a sip of my coffee, I notice the painting hanging across from me.
“You like it?” she asks with a scrunch of her nose as she tilts her head to one side.
“Yeah, it’s amazing.”
“I feel like it needs a little somethin’, but I can’t decide what. Thought about taking it outside. Sometimes, I get a fresher perspective when I’m immersed in what I’m trying to paint.”
The painting is of a cypress swamp and the way she’s captured the light reflecting off the water . . . hitting the bark of the trees perfectly . . . it looks like a photograph.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it’s one of Dani’s photographs.”
“Well, thanks.” She tilts her head back the other direction and looks at it a little longer. “Maybe I’ll just leave it alone then.”
“Yeah, it’s great just like it is.”
“I might need you to come by more often and tell me how awesome my paintings are. I could move along a lot faster if I didn’t get so caught up on the tiny details sometimes. Deacon says I’m the only one that even notices the small changes. I don’t know whether to punch him or not. The baby does that to me. Makes my emotions go all haywire . . .”
I’m just smiling, listening to her, when she notices she’s rambling.
“Sorry, the baby makes me do that too.”
“Oh, really. What else does the baby make you do? Drink chocolate milk and eat honey buns?”
“Yeah, he really likes chocolate milk.” She pats the small bump and gives me a mischievous smile.
“He, huh?”
“Oh, shit!” Her eyes go wide and she covers her mouth. “I mean, shoot. I wasn’t supposed to say anything until Sunday dinner.”
“Well, cat’s outta the bag now.”
“Tucker Benoit, you better keep your trap shut,” she warns, with the glare I know all too well. It’s the same one she used to give me when she knew I was up to no good and was trying to keep my ass out of trouble. Try being the key word.
“So, another nephew?” I ask, teasing, but also fucking stoked that I’m going to be an uncle again.
“Yep,” she says with a smile, loosening back up and leaning into the couch beside me. “Another boy, which I can’t say I’m sad about. Sure, I’d love a little girl,” she sighs. “But I’m already used to boys and I can reuse all of Carter’s things I have saved.”
“That’s good,” I tell her, my mind leaving the news about the baby and traveling to the news I got yesterday, what brought me here this morning. I feel the familiar spike of fear and adrenaline in my chest.
“What’s wrong?” Cami asks, sitting her cup down on the floor. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Fuck,” I groan, rubbing my hands over my face.
“Just tell me Tucker, because you’re startin’ to freak me out. Are you in trouble?”
“Not with the law or anything like that . . .” I start, trying to decide what to tell her first.
“Then with what? You know, I’ve been worried about you since you came home off the road, but when you told me it was just time to come home and slow down, I believed you. So, if there’s more to that story, now would be a good time to come clean.” Her voice matches her posture, on alert and ready for action. Maybe it’s the mother in her, but she’s always ready to take care of business. Although, she was like that before Carter came along. When she got pregnant with him, she never once waivered in her decision. From the moment she knew she was going to have a baby, it was all about Carter—providing for him, taking care of him, loving him.
“This isn’t about that. I was tellin’ you the truth. I needed a change of pace. Life on the road isn’t the life I want anymore.”
“Then what is the life you want? What’s this about?” she asks, like it’s a simple as that.
“I thought I knew. I thought I wanted to help Dad and work on my furniture, try to sell a few songs. Maybe buy a house somewhere close by . . .”
“What’s wrong with that? Sounds like a great life to me.”
“Yeah, it does.”
“So, what’s wrong? What’s with the bags under your eyes like you’ve been on a bender for three days? Are you seein’ someone I don’t know about? Is this about a girl?”
Oh, Cami.
So much I should say, but where to start?
Tears spring into the corners of my eyes and I press my fingers against them, willing them to stay put. I can’t cry. I don’t even know why I feel like crying. I don’t know the last time I did cry, because fuck that.
Cami’s hand lands gently on my back and I swear, if she’s starts trying to soothe me, I’m going to turn into a fucking girl right here on this couch. So, I blow out a frustrated breath and stand to my feet.
“You’re gonna have to talk. I suck at readin’ minds.” Her words are soft and reassuring. I know this is my safe place—Cami is my safe place—but it doesn’t make what I’m about to say any easier.
“This is about a girl,” I begin, deciding to start by telling Cami the way Sophie told me. “I had a visitor yesterday, a girl I met out on the road about five years ago.”
From the quirk of Cami’s eyebrow, I know she’s probably jumping to all kinds of conclusions, but to her credit, she stays silent and just listens.
“Her name is Sophie. I met her after a gig in Houma. Dave was dating her friend at the time and we all hung out after a show.” Wiping my now sweaty hands down the sides of my jeans, I take a seat back beside Cami. “We hooked up, but I was gone the next day and I never saw her again.” I pause, because I’m unsure how to go on from here. What do I say?
“Until yesterday,” Cami says, filling in the silence, helping me tell my story.
“Yes, she found me at the barn, after asking her friend Tracy where I lived and then stopping to ask around town if anyone knew me. If I had to guess, Dave had something to do with her figuring out my whereabouts.” I still owe him a visit.
“Persistent, I like that.” She nods her head in approval.
“She’s sick,” I finally say. “Dying, actually.”
“Oh, my God.” Cami’s hand flies to her mouth and I can already see tears springing to her eyes.
Shit.
“She was diagnosed with leukemia when she was younger and went into remission a couple of times, but it’s back and there’s basically nothing the doctors can do.” I take a deep breath and try to find the strength inside to go on. Seeing Sophie’s face in my head, as she told me yesterday, is what does it. If she was strong enough to find me and tell me, surely I can relay the message to someone else. “They’ve given her anywhere from six weeks to six months.”
“That’s awful,” Cami says, shaking her head. “I fucking hate cancer. It’s so unfair.”
“It is.” I nod. Resting my head in my hands, I plead with God and the universe, even the floor beneath my feet, to offer up a miracle—anything to make the next part I’m getting ready to say any easier. “It’s really unfair for her daughter.”
“Oh, God,” she breathes out again, her eyes doubling in size. “She has a child?” That’s when the waterworks start. Cami sniffles, but then she can’t hold it in. Her hand goes to her stomach, and I can only imagine what’s going through her mind, probably thoughts of Carter and her unborn baby. Maybe she’s even thinking the same thing I thought yesterday, about our own mother.
Then, she gasps, her hand flying back to her mouth. “Tucker.”
It’s in that moment that I know my smart, witty sister has figured it out. She knows where this is going. I don’t even have to say the next words, because she already knows. But I do need to say them. I need to say them so they’ll stop haunting me and I can figure out what I’m supposed to do with them.
“Our daughter, Sammy. She’s four.”
“You have a daughter.” It’s not a question or an answer, it just is. The way Cami says it makes it sound like a miracle or a blessing . . . something wonderful.
“I guess I do.” I exhale sharply and shake my head, like it’s going to magically make all the pieces fall in place.
“What do you mean, you guess?”
“I mean, I haven’t met her. I didn’t even know it was a possibility until yesterday. I haven’t seen Sophie in over five years . . . in all honesty, I hadn’t even thought about her. So, I don’t know what I mean, but I can tell you that I have no fucking clue what I’m supposed to do.” The more I talk, the louder I get, and the next thing I know I’m pacing the studio, and Cami’s on her feet with her hands on her hips, staring me down.
“So, get a paternity test and then get your shit together,” she says with a bit more edge than I expect. “That little girl didn’t ask for any of this, Tucker. You need to think about her . . . what she needs. She’s four, for God’s sake!”
“And I’m supposed to know how to raise a little girl!” I throw my hands in the air, feeling myself begin to unravel. “Most men get a little bit of time to figure this shit out. In a matter of hours, I’ve found out that a girl I hooked up with got knocked up, she had a baby, and now I’m supposed to be an insta-father!”
“She wants you to have her?” Cami asks, a slight bit of confusion clouding her anger.
“She’s dying, Cami!”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“She has nobody . . . no mom or dad. No aunts or uncles. She’s not like us. She doesn’t have a big family of people who care about her. From what she said, Sammy is all she has. Sophie is all Sammy has.”
“And when Sophie dies . . .”
“I’ll be all Sammy has.”
“Sammy,” Cami repeats, a hint of a smile on her lips. “I like that.” She rubs the small bump again. “If this one was a girl, we’d thought about naming her Samantha, after Sam, and calling her Sammy.”
I like it too, now that she mentions it, and for a second, I let my mind wander to the what ifs.
What if I’d known about Sammy from the beginning?
What if I’d been in her life for the last four years?
Would I have been a good father?
Or would I have let the rock star life I was living come between me and her?
I don’t know.
I’m not the same guy I was even a few months ago. Things have changed.
“What if she’s not mine?” I ask, speaking out my fears, giving them life, knowing Cami won’t judge me for them. “What if I go through all of this and it’s a big scam or Sophie is mistaken and she’s not mine?”
“But what if she is?” Cami counters.
“What do I do?”
“You get that paternity test, and then you step up. You can’t let that baby girl be without a parent, Tucker. You and I both know what it’s like to lose a mother.” She pauses for a second and when I hear her sniffle, I look back up to see fresh tears in her eyes. “Do you ever think that things happen for a reason? Even bad things. Like, maybe God knew that you were gonna need to know what it’s like to lose a parent one day.”
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly, because after all these years, I’ve never come up with a good enough reason for God to take my mama away. Maybe I’ve been a little pissed about it, actually. Or a lot pissed. But something about what Cami is saying brings me a tiny bit of peace in a place that’s been dark for a long time.
“When do I get to meet her?” Cami asks.
“I don’t know that either.” The tears that were threatening earlier are back and I have a huge lump in my throat. “Sophie is coming back next week. She’s bringing Sammy. But I don’t want to do anything or say anything until I know for sure that she’s mine.”
“You’ll know,” Cami says with confidence. “When you see her. You’ll just know.”