2. Lo
— ? —
Lo
The bus is the size of a house.
Cal comes out of the barn and stands next to me on the porch, wiping his hands on a rag.
“That’s a big bus,” he says.
“Yep.”
“He bringing a circus?”
“Apparently.” I don’t take my eyes off the bus.
“You want me to run ‘em off?”
“No. Jesse’s in there somewhere.”
“You sure about that?” Cal squints at the windows.
“Not even a little bit.”
The door opens and people pour out. Not Jesse. People with equipment and clipboards. A woman steps off last, tall, blonde, heels that don’t belong on a ranch.
“That’s her?” Cal asks. “The manager?”
“That’s the one.”
“She’s walking into your house.”
“I noticed.” We both watch the screen door bang shut behind her.
“Without knocking.”
“I noticed that too.”
“You want me to-” Cal’s already half-turned toward the barn.
“No. Stay here. Keep the hands away from the circus.”
“You got it, boss.”
I walk inside. My kitchen looks like a yard sale exploded. There are cases on the counter, equipment on the table, and Sloane Marsh is picking up my fruit bowl and setting it on the floor.
“That stays on the counter,” I say.
Sloane looks up. Her eyes sweep over me, dirty boots, dusty jeans, flannel shirt.
“Oh. You must be…” She checks her iPad. “Lorilee? Jesse mentioned you handle the livestock.”
“I’m his wife.”
“Right, of course. Sloane Marsh. We spoke on the phone once?”
“Once.” I don’t smile.
“Well, we’re just setting up for tomorrow’s shoot. The label wants ‘Jesse at home’ content. You won’t even know we’re here.”
“I know you’re here right now. You’re standing in my kitchen.”
“Temporarily. We’ll be out of your hair by tonight. I know you must have… chores, or whatever it is you do.” Her gaze slides over my boots again.
“Where’s Jesse?”
“Jesse’s finishing up with the audio engineer. He’ll be in shortly. In the meantime, I need to run through the schedule for his time here.”
“I thought this was a break.” I set my keys on the counter, hard.
“It is. Technically. But the machine doesn’t stop just because he’s not touring.”
“The machine.”
“You know how it is.” She smiles like we’re friends.
“I don’t, actually. Where is my husband?”
“I told you, he’s-”
“Lo.”
I turn. Jesse’s standing in the doorway, thinner than three weeks ago, gray under the eyes, looking at me like I’m the only thing in the room.
“Hey, cowboy.”
He crosses the kitchen and pulls me into his arms. Holds on tight, longer than I expected.
“I missed you,” he says into my hair. “God, Lo. I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too.”
“You look tired.”
“You look worse.” I mean it as a joke. It comes out tender.
“Fair enough. It’s been a long three weeks.”
“It’s been a long year.”
His phone buzzes. I watch his attention split in real time.
“Sorry, just let me-” He checks the screen. “Shit. I gotta take this. It’s the label.”
“Jesse-”
“Five minutes. Five minutes and I’m all yours.”
“You just got here.” Something in me deflates.
“I know. I know, but this is - there’s a problem with the single rollout, and-”
“Then it can wait twenty minutes.”
“Lo-” He’s already stepping toward the door.
“It never is, is it?”
“Lo, please. Five minutes.”
“Fine. Five minutes.” I hate how easily I fold.
“Thank you. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He kisses my forehead and he’s gone. Out the door. Phone to his ear. I count his steps across the porch.
“He’s very in-demand,” Sloane says behind me. “You should be proud.”
“I am proud.”
“Of course you are. We all are. He’s going to be huge.”
“Bigger than huge?” I keep my voice flat.
“The kind of huge that changes everything.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“It means opportunities. It means reach. It means Jesse Cooper becomes a household name.” She recites it like a pitch she’s given before.
“He’s already a household name. In this household.”
“I meant nationally.”
“I know what you meant.”
Five minutes turns into fifteen. Sloane commandeers my kitchen table for a “quick production meeting.” The crew sets up lights by the window. I make myself useful by staying out of the way.
Forty-five minutes later, Jesse comes back in.
“Sorry,” he says. “Label stuff. They want to move the single release up two weeks.”
“Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Great. I’m starving.”
“I noticed you haven’t eaten. You’re thinner.” I slide the plate in front of him anyway.
“Tour diet. Catering’s hit or miss.”
“And the gray under your eyes?”
“Tour sleep. Even worse than the food.” He won’t meet my eyes when he says it.
“Maybe you should take an actual break.”
“This is a break.”
“This doesn’t look like a break. This looks like you brought work home with you.” I gesture at the cases stacked on my counter.
“Sloane said it was easier to bring the crew than coordinate locally.”
“Easier for who?”
“For… for the schedule.” He stumbles on it.
“Right. The schedule.”
“Lo, what do you want me to say?”
“Tell me you’re glad to be home.” It comes out smaller than I want.
“I am glad to be home.”
“You’ve been here an hour and I’ve seen you for five minutes.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just - there’s a lot happening right now.” The apology is automatic by now.
“There’s always a lot happening.”
“I know.”
“So when does it stop?” I already know the answer.
“Soon. After this tour cycle, things will slow down.”
“You gave me that exact speech on the phone last night.”
“Because it’s still true.”
“It was still true six months ago, too. And four months before that.”
“Lo-”
“I’m not picking a fight, Jesse. I’m reading you the record.” I keep my hands busy at the stove.
“The record is that I’m building something. For us. For our future.”
“Our future. What does that look like, exactly?”
“It looks like financial security. It looks like options. It looks like-” He counts them off like he’s rehearsed it.
“It looks like you on a bus and me here alone.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Maybe not. But it’s true.”
Sloane appears in the doorway.
“Jesse, the photographer wants to know if we can do a few test shots before we lose the light.”
“Can it wait? I’m talking to my wife.”
“It’s just ten minutes. The light’s perfect right now.” She’s already holding the door.
“Ten minutes. That’s it.”
“Of course.”
He squeezes my hand. “I’ll be right back.”
“Sure.”
“I mean it. Right back.”
“I heard you.” I don’t look up from the counter.
“Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
“You look mad.” He hovers in the doorway, torn.
“I look tired. Not mad.”
“I’ll make it up to you tonight.”
“Okay.” The word is a wall and we both know it.
“I promise.”
“Okay, Jesse.”
He goes. I finish making dinner alone.
When he comes back, it’s been thirty minutes, not ten. Sloane’s with him, talking about tomorrow’s schedule.
“The crew’s staying at the motel in town,” he says. “They’ll be gone by tonight. It’s just Sloane staying in the guest room.”
“Sloane’s staying here?”
“Just for the two weeks. It’s easier.”
“You keep saying that word.” I set down the serving spoon.
“What word?”
“Easier. Everything’s easier. Except none of it looks very easy from my side of this kitchen.”
“What do you want me to do, Lo? Send her to the motel?” He throws his hands up.
“That would be a start.”
“She’s my manager. She needs to be here for logistics.”
“What logistics? You’re supposed to be on a break.” My voice climbs and I let it.
“A working break. We talked about this.”
“No, we didn’t. You told me you were coming home for two weeks. You didn’t mention a crew, a photographer, and your manager sleeping down the hall.”
“I didn’t think it would be a big deal.” He rubs the back of his neck.
“You didn’t think, period.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I seem to be saying a lot of unfair things today.”
Sloane clears her throat. “I can go if you two need to-”
“Stay,” Jesse says. “We’re not fighting.”
“We’re not?”
“We’re having a discussion.”
“Right. A discussion. At our kitchen table. With your manager listening.” I don’t lower my voice for her benefit.
“Sloane, maybe give us a minute.”
“Of course. I’ll be in the guest room.”
She leaves. I watch her go.
“Happy now?” Jesse asks.
“Not particularly.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want my husband back.” There. I finally said it plainly.
“I’m right here.”
“Are you? Because it doesn’t feel like it.”
“I don’t know what that means.” And that’s the whole problem.
“It means I’ve been running this ranch alone for a year. It means I watch you on livestreams because that’s the only way I get to see your face. It means I drive past billboards of you twice a week and they feel more real than you do.”
“Lo-”
“I’m not done. It means you forgot our anniversary. It means you cut my birthday call short for soundcheck. It means your manager just moved my fruit bowl off my counter and told the crew I ‘handle the livestock.’” I’ve been saving these up longer than I realized.
“She didn’t mean-”
“She absolutely meant it. And you weren’t here to see it, because you were in the barn on the phone.”
“I can’t just ignore the label.” He says it like it’s a law of physics.
“You can’t ignore your wife either.”
“I’m not ignoring you.”
“You’ve been home for two hours. We’ve talked for maybe fifteen minutes total. And now your manager is sleeping down the hall and there’s a photographer in my living room.” I count it out on my fingers so he can’t argue.
“The photographer’s leaving.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?” He actually sounds lost.
“The point is that this doesn’t feel like a homecoming. It feels like an invasion.”
“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Is it? Because I didn’t know any of this was happening until that bus rolled up my driveway.” I hold his gaze until he looks away.
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“Mission accomplished. I’m surprised.”
“I didn’t mean-” He keeps not finishing his sentences.
“What did you mean, Jesse? Help me understand. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you brought your whole world into my house without asking.”
“It’s our house.”
“Is it? Because it doesn’t feel like ours anymore. It feels like a venue.”
He’s quiet for a moment. His jaw tightens, and he can’t quite hold my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have called ahead. I should have warned you.”