Chapter 11
The next morning West locates me in the hotel lobby. “Morning, Blue Eyes.”
I check out his shower-damp hair and grin, and my sleepless night seems to fade.
He looks directly at the Road Runner on my yellow tee. “Yeah, I might just have to show you my Daffy Duck undie collection.”
Just the thought of seeing his undies makes a flush crawl across my cheeks.
“I missed you on this morning’s run,” he says.
“Sorry.” I cringe. “Didn’t sleep very well. Next time,” I tell him.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“Load ‘em up!” someone yells.
As the lobby begins to empty, I catch sight of a man in a suit, standing stoic, carefully scrutinizing each person.
West turns to me. “Coming?”
With a nod, I tug my ball cap down and hurry outside straight to one of the vans where Anne already waits.
West catches up. “Come on. You two ride with me on the Mack Daddy bus. It’s way more comfortable than the tech vans.”
“Rock on!” Anne slings her backpack over her shoulder.
“Thanks,” I say, beelining it past Anne, and up onto the bus West always rides on.
“Well, hey,” the driver greets me.
West comes up behind me. “I’m trying to woo her with my big bad bus.”
The driver waves us on, and I step the rest of the way inside.
Couches and individual leather seats line both sides of the bus, some swivel to face each other and others point forward.
A full-size kitchen takes up the middle, and a bathroom sits in the back right corner.
A person could easily live in this place.
West nods toward the rear. “Head on back to where Simon is.”
No one really acknowledges me or Anne as we make our way all the way to the end where Simon already lounges in a sectioned off quad. I take the seat right beside Simon, and West sits directly across from me giving me nothing to look at but him.
The suited man from the lobby steps outside, now scrutinizing the many buses and vans. I slide down in my seat.
“Where’s Kirstie?” West asks Simon.
“She’s already at the airport. Had to go back to school early. Something about her lab partner dropping the ball on an assignment.”
“That sucks, man.”
“Yeah, it does.”
West settles back, looking straight across at me.
“You guys get a lot of groupies on here?” Anne asks.
A laugh bursts from Simon. “You should see the ones who sneak on. Crazy.”
The bus lurches forward. I stay ducked low as I pull my phone out and check to see if Brynn has messaged me, but she hasn’t.
I need to calm down. I’m safe. I’m on a bus and I’m pulling away, and I’m probably raising suspicion by being all twitchy.
That man was probably just curious who we all were.
Yes, I’m being paranoid. But even as I tell myself this, trepidation still winds through me, and I leave my phone right on the seat beside me where I can watch if a message comes in.
Anne kicks her legs out into the aisle. “What do you do with the groupies when you find them?”
“Escort them off,” West answers, still staring at me. You okay? he mouths, and I nod.
Anne goes about putting her earbuds in and tuning us all out. Simon slips on a pair of dark glasses and reclines back. Quietness fills our little area filled only by the sound of Anne’s music and the low buzz of talking from other areas of the tour bus.
West pulls out a spiral notebook and begins scribbling. Idly, I watch him.
“Lyrics,” he tells me.
“I’ve always wondered how that happens with you musicians.”
“Well, you’re a musician, too. How does it happen for you?”
“I never thought of myself as a musician. I just strum whatever I feel like strumming. It’s my escape.”
“Mine too.”
We share a thoughtful smile that has me relaxing. “Have you…have you always been so popular, so comfortable around other people?”
“You should meet my sister. She’s the popular and outgoing one. Her name’s Vianca. She’s turning fifteen soon.”
“You two close?”
“Yes, we’re close. What about you? Brothers? Sisters?”
“I have a best friend, Brynn, that’s about as close as it comes.” And that’s the first time in over a month I’ve said Brynn’s name out loud.
“Maybe Brynn can visit you this year on tour.”
I nod, even though that can’t happen.
“Want to try the ‘Where you from?’ question again?”
Pressing my lips together, I shake my head. “How about you talk, and I’ll listen?”
“Okay.” He closes his lyrics book.
Yes, definitely, that’s easier. The more he talks, the more I don’t have to say anything. Sitting here in our private little area, not touching, yet companionable and comfortable.
“I grew up in North Florida on an island. I went to an online school. No, I’m not a surfer, which is what most people think when I tell them I grew up in Florida. Yes, I dated pretty much every girl on the island,” he teases.
My lips twitch with amusement. West really is just so out there about everything.
“I met Simon when I was just a kid, and we’ve been playing in our version of a band ever since. One of songs got a lot of play on iTunes and we snagged a deal out of it.” He spreads his arms. “And here we are.”
“What about your parents?”
West shakes his head. “We’ll save that for a different conversation.”
Seems as if I was right. I’m not the only one with secrets.
He leans forward. “Now, you ready to tell me where you’re from?”
“Washington State.” Just saying the truth races a weird anxiety through me.
“There. That wasn’t so bad, huh?”
A ghost of a smile touches my lips. “No, I guess not.”
“What made you choose the crazy life of a roadie?”
“I like all the moving around,” I honestly tell him. “I need it.”
“Why do you need it?”
Safety. But I don’t say that and instead try to lighten the mood. “Wanderlust. It inspires me.”
He cocks his head and studies me, and I get the distinct impression he sees so much more than I want him to. “I’m feeling very inspired.” He opens his lyrics pad back up. “Think I’ll write.”
He seems different around me. More real, I suppose, and thoughtful. Does he even understand the facade he wears? It’s probably such a part of the music star side of him, and he’s done it for so long that he doesn’t realize it’s just a role he plays.
A role…we’re more alike than I thought.
He marks through a line and starts another, and we fall into a comfortable silence. I study his pen scratching across the pages, and with each hypnotic scrape, I find myself zoning out and drifting away…
Today I turn ten. We’re supposed to have a big party but Mommy cancels it, tells me to go to my room, and to not come out no matter what I hear.
At first, it’s okay being in my room because I open presents and play with all my new things. But then the daylight goes away, darkness comes, and my stomach growls.
I haven’t heard anything beyond my bedroom walls so I don’t know what Mommy is talking about but surely it’s okay I leave now. I’ve been in here for hours.
My stomach growls again.
I tiptoe over to my door and crack it open, peering out into a long and dark hall with only one nightlight plugged in and offering a gentle white glow.
Way down at the end sits Mommy’s room, dark, the door cracked.
Grayson’s room is upstairs. Downstairs is the kitchen and so I move toward the stairwell.
I’m not sure what makes me go to Mommy’s room instead of the kitchen but I move in that direction, coming to stand in the slivered open door. The curtains are closed and darkness smothers her room, but my vision adjusts quickly, seeing her curled on the bed, her back to me.
“Mommy?” I whisper.
“Go away,” she speaks in a clear voice that contradicts the darkness.
But I don’t go away. Instead, I move across the room to her bed, turning on a lamp. It casts an eerie yellow glow over the spacious area, showing her bared back where angry red welts slash her skin.
I barely breathe.
“I said go away,” her words come again, still clear, and this time angry.
Unlike when Grayson speaks to me, her angry tone doesn’t scare me, it prods me forward as I go into her bathroom, retrieve cotton balls and peroxide, and come back to the bed.
I climb up onto the big mattress. It doesn’t move with my weight.
I sit cross-legged behind her, unscrew the peroxide bottle, soak a cotton ball, and gently pat the first of many welts.
She doesn’t speak anymore and when I’m done I recap the peroxide, curl up on the bed, and I stare at her back.
I wish Mommy would just behave so Grayson wouldn’t be so mean to her.
My eyes grow heavy. I sleep.
Wetness wakes me. I can’t believe I peed the bed. But as I come fully awake, it’s not pee. It’s blood.
Beside me, Mommy is dead.
I scream.
Adrenaline shoots through me, and I wake with a whole body jerk. I scoot up in my chair and look around, trying to orient myself. In our quad, Anne and Simon still sleep.
“Hey,” West whispers.
Silently, I curse and hope to God I didn’t talk.
Anne told me that I sometimes do. I push myself farther up, embarrassed, awkward, and just wanting to get away.
But I’m on a bus, trapped, with nowhere to go.
Sweat pops to my skin, and I force myself to breathe, but it doesn’t seem like there’s any air in here.
West reaches for me. “Eve?”
I shake my head, and with fumbling fingers, I get my earbuds out and put them in. I turn sideways in my chair, not wanting to look at West, Anne, or anybody, and stare out the window for the rest of the trip.
But mostly I concentrate on breathing and not falling back to sleep.