46. The Amelia Song
CHAPTER 46
The Amelia Song
“What are you doing?” Calum asks as soon as he enters the room. I shut the colouring book and place my phone on it as he leans down to kiss my hair. Mace sits between my legs, a red crayon clutched in his hand. He pulls his father down by his hair, crayons forgotten. Calum laughs, already lifting his son to kiss him on the cheek. “What was Mama doing, Macey?”
Mace rattles words that elicit laughter from both of us. I dust my knees, pushing myself up from the floor. Mace and I were working on his grip and colouring skills. Calum sits on the edge of the bed and Mace squirms. He lets go of his son as I draw closer to them. With my help, Mace stands between Calum’s legs, both of his hands resting on his father’s knees.
“We were colouring,” I tell Calum.
Calum stares at the mess of colours on the floor and the colouring book I got before we left Yorkrinth. Mace’s grasp has improved. He can hold a crayon in his fist without breaking it.
“Nice,” he replies.
“How was practise?” I ask him.
“Good,” he says. Sitting on the rug, I open my arms for Mace to walk into them. He rushes to me, and I catch him right before he stumbles. Dani wants to know when she can see him. I need to ask her son. Calum rubs a hand over his knee. “What were you really doing, Cathie?”
A guilty smile sits on my lips, and it draws a tiny one from the blue-eyed man on the bed. He knows I’m half-lying, but I’m not giving up my secret, so I say, “I was colouring with Mace.”
On his knees, Calum tickles my sides. I wheeze, and my hold on Mace’s wrists slacks.
“Cathie, what were you doing? Tell me,” he whispers. His blues shine with affection. He tucks a corner of his lip between his teeth and my resolve weakens. “Asides from colouring.”
“Well…” I flick a finger over Mace’s nose, and he pinches mine. Scowling at him, whose blues widen as he tries to understand what’s happening, I add, “I was trying to complete a song.”
The Amelia song. Mace is taken away from me. Calum sits him on his leg. I toy with one of the three buttons on my shirt.
“What song?” Calum asks. I don’t look up but crawl to the other side where the colouring book and phone are. While Mace coloured, I tried to write. Song writing isn’t my forte. I return to father and son. Calum stretches his hand for the phone, but I ignore him. “Cathie.”
“It’s not really good,” I say. I unlock my phone and hand it to Calum. Mace tries to grab it, but his father keeps it out of his reach. A wedge settles between his brows as he reads the lines on my screen. I tap on my knee. “It’s just there, Cal. It’s not as good as anything you—”
“Shut up, Superstar,” he interrupts. Just that statement, and my doubts take a backseat. I snort with laughter. Taking Mace from his father, I sit him between my legs. “I think it’s more than just there , Cathie. It’s a great song. You should sing it next week. Open for us.”
“It’s a sad song, Cal. No one wants to hear a sad song at a concert,” I say. I look to Mace for support, but he’s busy chewing the sleeve of his shirt. I pry it from his teeth, and he snarls at me. Toddlers. “Besides, it’s not a real song yet. It has a long way to go.”
“We could go to a studio then and record it,” he offers. I roll my eyes. No one would buy it. It’s a song detailing the events from that phone call from Amelia to let me know she won’t be home on Monday as planned. “Billie Eilish has a long list of sad songs, Cathie. Alanis too.”
“Calum,” I say, a slight warning in my voice.
“Catherine.” More seconds pass, and his knees brush mine as he covers the gap. Mace seizes the chance to crawl to his dad’s lap. “There are many prominent artists who recorded great songs in one take. You have the voice, and now you have the lyrics. Don’t give that up.”
“But I don’t have a song—” I stop myself, realising I don’t have a counter. My mouth opens and closes. Thoughts stir in my head until I pick out a coherent one. Calum walks to the wardrobe with Mace. “You want me to open for the band? But I don’t have the song ready.”
“If we start now, we will have it.” On his knees, he swaps his shirt and replaces Mace’s, so they are matching. Hand in hand, they stalk to the door. Mace wobbles a few times, his shoes squeaking against the floor, but his dad supports him. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“To practise. I’ll text the boys on our way.”
“You just got back from practice,” I remind him.
“Who cares?” Calum throws Mace high and catches him. “My baby is about to perform.”
“This is not a good idea,” I mutter under my breath.
He must have heard because he says, “This is not a bad idea. Hurry, Mrs Dissick.”
Excitement kicks in. I don’t know if it’s the idea of opening for a popular band or the idea of being his wife, but I scoot to the wardrobe and change into a dress. I twirl, my dress flowing. He coughs, a glint dancing in his eyes. If Mace wasn’t here, the dress would have been taken off the moment I turned. After grabbing everything Mace would need, I slip my hand into his.
A car awaits us outside. I don’t question it. I’m learning to enjoy a few of the perks of being with a famous band. Things get done faster for them. Calum starts texting once we are in the backseat. Mace sits quietly on my leg, his eyes on the window. Maybe we should reconsider Dani’s offer to babysit him. Calum isn’t as upset as he was, but we haven’t discussed her.
No one pays the car any attention as it drives down the near empty street. I place a hand on Calum’s knee. He doesn’t look up, but a corner of his lips twitches. “Where are we going?”
He tucks his phone into his pocket, his gaze following Mace. “There’s a studio in the same building we practise.” His shoulder brushes mine, and I smile. “The boys are still there.”
“Do you have a studio in every city you visit?”
Caleb has one in his house. I’m sure Calum has one in New York.
Calum laughs and sticks out his tongue at Mace. “No. It would be nice, though. You pay for sessions or rent it.” I nod to show I get it, and he cups my cheek for a quick kiss. Mace pouts. Calum laughs but kisses him on the nose. “We rented this space for the duration of the tour.”
“So you rent a studio in every city?”
Lines appear on his forehead. He shakes his head and stops midway. I flick the hair teasing his brow, and he covers my hand. My heart dances. “We don’t rent a studio because we don’t need it. Most hotels have areas we can practise. Scott looks out for those when booking. Or we do it in our room. Besides, it’s not a good idea to practise so much before the main event.”
“Yeah…” I reply.
They don’t rent studios, but he’s taking me to rent one. He’s doing it for me . I rest my head on his shoulder and his arm wraps around my waist. Maybe at the end of the Manville tour, we can define or label our relationship. I hold on tight to Mace. My eyes close and I hum the lyrics to my song. I may have lied. It’s finished. But I’m scared to share the song with the world. It’s not the same as singing a cover. It’s more vulnerable. People could hate or love it.
The car stops. Calum’s eyes narrow as he soaks me in. I can’t tell how he always knows each time I need his quiet reassurance, but he does. He drops a kiss on my nose and another on my lips but doesn’t deepen it because of Mace. We enter the single-storey building through the back door. Sam smiles when he spots us. Lucas waves, but his sole attention is on Mace. He doesn’t make a fuss as his new uncle collects him from his father. Sam gives me a side hug.
“We booked a few sessions,” Sam tells Calum. Turning to me, he asks, “Ready to roll?”
My excitement fades, leaving a ball of nerves in my belly. Calum’s hand slide into mine. He always knows. We follow behind them, padding up the stairs to a door. Sam knocks once and enters. The room is dim. It must be a thing with studios. I can hardly make out the faces of those inside. But there are two males who stand to shake hands with the boys and slap their shoulders.
After the introductions, I’m sent to the other room. I’m used to it, sort of, but my hands shake as I wrap them around the microphone. Calum winks. Lucas helps Mace wave. Sam does nothing but watch me. I feel like he’s the one I need to impress more. Him and Scott. I know the lyrics to the song because they came from a deep place inside me, but I still pluck out my phone from the purse to read them.
The guy in charge of the studio gives me a thumbs up and the light in the room zeroes in on me. I glance at the glass window separating us but meet the scared blue eyes of my reflection. The boys are all watching me, waiting, especially Calum. I draw courage from inside. I don’t need to think about my happy place because they are here with me. Calum and Mace.
When the soft, unfamiliar tune bounces off the wall, I sing from my heart. The guy’s job is to provide a beat that could work with the song, and he’s doing great on the first try. I let it all out. My eyes water when I sing the part about my angel. I sniff but don’t let the tears drop. The song ends, and the beat drops. I don’t look at the window, or at the door that creaks open.
Calum walks in. I identify him by his shoes. Before he touches me, I look into his eyes.
“Did I do okay?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “You did great, Superstar. And that’s just the first take.”
I flatten my hands on his chest and shut my eyes. A minute or two later, I open them. “Okay.”
“It was beautiful, Cathie. It would be unfair not to share it with the world. What do you say?” he mutters into my hair. I hug his waist, afraid to say the words. He unhooks my hands and grabs my shoulders. “I didn’t smoke today. What if I promise not to smoke until the show?”
That’s eight days without weed. He claimed it was a habit, but he still sneaks out to do it.
“Okay,” I tell him. He smiles at me, and a tiny smile cracks my lips. I love him, not only because he’s sacrificing a vice for me. “Do we need to add or change anything in the song?”
“What? No,” he sputters. His fingers sink into my scalp. I miss my longer hair sometimes. “It’s perfect. The rawness is part of what makes it more appealing. You’re a star, Mrs Dissick.”
“I’m not your wife until you put a proper ring on it, Mr Dissick. Where’s Macey?”
“Right here,” someone calls out.
My cheeks flush. Did they hear us? Did I say anything silly? I look to the window and blush at the pairs of eyes gawking at me. Lucas is holding Mace up by his arms. He leans towards the microphone on the table and screams, “You gave all of us goosebumps. Look. See…”
He tries to twist his arm so I can get a look, and Sam blurts, “Jesus. You are going to drop the kid.”
To prevent it from happening, Sam intertwines his hands under Mace. Lucas scowls, turning Mace around so our son’s head is nestled on his shoulder. “I’m not going to drop him.”
“You were—”
“Shut up, Sam. Don’t tell me what to do.”
Calum and I share a glance. I relax when he snorts. I didn’t only bring Calum into my life. I gained a new family.