Chapter 30
THIRTY
ESTELLE
Then
“You’re made for this,” Ray told Estelle when she came off stage at Mississippi Nights in St. Louis to an audience that had been electrified by her cover of Tom Petty’s “Runnin’ Down a Dream.”
She was sweaty and happy and in denial that they were coming up on Thanksgiving when obligation would have her return to Nashville for a week before her December events kicked off.
She already knew what that would bring. Sullen glares.
Slammed doors. Phone calls to return from the school.
No gratitude or cooperation. Here she was making concessions and arranging comforts while at the brink of professional significance… She didn’t know why she bothered.
“I know,” she said, letting him buy her a drink.
She’d seen more of him lately, and while he wasn’t saying so outright, she suspected he was keeping out of Darla’s way while she nested.
If she was to believe her friend, Ray had neither taste nor judgment when it came to preparing for their baby boy.
She supposed that made them both persona non grata in their homes.
“Excuse me.” A woman tapped Estelle on the shoulder. “Would I be able to get an autograph?”
Estelle blinked at her. “From me?”
“Yeah, I love your voice so much. I saw you in Paducah this past summer too.”
Estelle’s heart grew several sizes. This was a first. “Of course,” she said. She wiped her hands on her skirt and accepted the pen and notebook the woman handed her. She’d practiced her signature endlessly since the name change, but her fingers still trembled when she put the tip to the paper.
After the woman had left, a low squeal of delight rose up her throat. A fan. She had a bona fide fan.
“Happy?” Ray asked over the brim of his beer glass.
His eyes were dark in the muted light, but a shimmer of something triumphant still made it to the surface. Like he was proud of her.
No one had ever been proud of her before.
“I am,” she said.
Across the room, she spotted the woman showing the autograph to her friends. A piece of paper with her handwriting on it that now was special to a stranger. The sight had her float up another few rungs on the ladder she was climbing.
“It suits you,” Ray said.
She turned back to him, recalling that night at Barnie’s when they’d first met. How he’d looked out for her when Greg had shown up. How he’d seen more than a waitress from the start.
“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t think I say it enough, but I really am grateful for everything you do. None of this would be possible without you.”
He set his glass down and reached out, letting one finger briefly skim her jaw. She recognized it for what it was—a display of chaste affection, nothing else. But since that was the best she could do in terms of male attention at present, she accepted it.
“You just stick with me,” he said, “and we’ll do great things together. That’s a promise.”