2. 2
Ihold to the armrests of my aisle seat on this plane that refuses to lift off. “My life will be normal in one week. My life will be normal in one week. My life will—”
“Hey, aren’t you the lady from that show?” The bushy-bearded man next to me says. For a second, I pretend he’s talking to the lady on his right—but I’m so not that lucky.
I clear my throat and stare ahead. He isn’t recognizing me from The Judys, but from Celebrity Wife. Joy.
Filming has been over for months, but every last one of us, from the cast of guys to the make-up artist, had to keep our mouths shut until airing—or else. And I”m not paying CBS a dime—they have already turned my life upside down. They don”t get a cent from my bank account.
I mean, my career is already in shambles, so why not add my love life to the ball of flaming cat poo we’re calling Delaney’s life?
Ash assured me that this was key to getting my fans to follow me on this new path… however, that was before I went and screwed everything up by not finding my prince charming. Let’s just say I did not give the station their fairytale ending.
When Mr. Bushy Beard next to me won’t stop staring, I find my voice. “I don’t know what you mean.” I barely give the man a glance. Normally, I don’t mind sitting in coach. I like it even. But today… I should have paid someone in the very full first-class section a thousand dollars to swap with me.
“Yeah.” He nods with each and every word out of his mouth, his beady eyes examining me top to bottom. “Blue hair. It’s you.”
I can’t see his chin beneath the long bristles of crimped and curly facial hair. I keep searching for it—a really poor attempt to ignore what he’s saying.
My hair is not blue, by the way. There are peek-a-boo streaks of powder blue through the blonde. It was a Judy thing four years ago. All four of us dyed our hair with just a peek of blue on the underneath during our “All Out” tour. We donated a quarter of our ticket sales that month to the Prevent Child Abuse Foundation, and we dyed our hair to match the cause.
I just happen to like the blue and keep it.
“You’re in that Celebrity Wife show. You know, the one that Jaren Sparks hosts.”
It’s a miracle I’ve gone the entire morning without being recognized. I should be grateful.
I pull in a breath, tell my pounding heart to shut it, and lie through my teeth. “Oh, I’ve seen that. Isn’t that happening in L.A.?”
“Yeah. That’s it. You’re that girl.” He stabs a fat finger in my direction.
Why, oh why, did I not buy the extra-large bag of gummy bears? Instead, I went with the practical travel-sized bag. I am going to need the sustenance—I can tell!
Clearing my throat, I prepare for the performance of a lifetime—or at least, for this flight. I shake my head and grin as if he”s funny, as if he”s flattering me. You know, the ol’ fake-it-until-you-make-it college try.
“If I’m her, shouldn’t I be in L.A.? The last show airs next week.” I clear my throat and roll with the fib. “At least, I think it does. I missed this week’s episode.”
“Oh, it was good,” he says with another chinless nod.
The woman on his right side leans across his lap, her eyes peering up at mine from her awkward position. Holy moly, tell me they know each other. “Lane kicked off Mike and Austin. I personally don’t like that Patrick fella at all. But he’s still around.” Her eyes go wide like she’s doubting my good sense—and she should.
I sniff, clear my throat, and blink toward the aisle floor. “I don’t like him either,” I say through gritted teeth.
Patrick Stacey has made my life a living—
“Right,” the woman says, interrupting my thoughts. “She’s crazy.” Then, resting her elbow on the man’s thigh, she holds an awkward palm up to me. “I’m Rizzy. This is Manny.”
I give her a fingertip shake and pray that Manny and Rizzy will find something interesting to say to each other soon.
“You sure look like her,” Rizzy says. “You sure you ain’t—”
My phone chimes with a text and I peer down, certain that Ash is sending me more scolding messages. “Excuse me.”
“I don’t think you’re allowed to—” Rizzy starts.
“We aren’t in the air yet,” I tell her and give my device one hundred percent of my attention.
Mom: I can’t believe my oldest daughter is going to get married on national television without her mother there. How selfish can you be, Delaney Sage?
Just like that, Mom makes visiting with Rizzy and Manny feel like a relaxing day at the park.
Mom writes as if the whole thing isn’t over and done with. Though—to be fair, maybe she doesn’t realize that it is. She most definitely doesn’t realize that I am still very, very single. I haven’t shared anything of that awful show with her. Even though she’d be one of a few people CBS might have allowed. But then, why would I? She’d only make me feel two inches tall.
To be fair, I haven’t told my dad either. But then, I’m not sure where he is at the moment… Vegas or Atlantic City? If he hasn’t paid his phone bill, and there’s a fifty-fifty chance he hasn’t, then I wouldn’t even be able to get a hold of him. So, why bother trying?
He may be more compassionate than Mom, but he’s rarely accessible.
I shove my phone into my pocket and peer back up at my new friends.
Neither have wavered from studying my face. “Maybe she’s her sister,” Manny says to Rizzy, all while keeping those gray eyes focused on my face.
“I have one sister—Eryn Jones—and she’s a freshman in college.” All true.
“Well, she is your doppelganger, that’s for sure.” Rizzy straightens up, and with Manny’s large frame between us, I can’t see her at all.
Okay. I may make it through this flight, after all. If I—
“Can I get a picture with you anyhow?” Rizzy says, leaning over Manny’s lap once more.
My brows cinch. “Uh. Why? What for?”
“I can still tell people you’re Lane Jonas.” Her eyes travel from my face to my hands clasped in my lap. “You’re close enough. Though she’s got that thing she does… with her eyebrows. You know?” Rizzy’s brows are popping up and down, cinching in and out.
I do not do that. I mentally shake my head at the ridiculousness. Eyebrows? I do not do a thing with my eyebrows.
“Jonas,” Manny says, interrupting my internal rant. He focuses his gaze forward at nothing, and I know what’s coming. It always comes, and once again, I could murder Ash for insisting on Jonas as my stage name. “You think she’s the sister to all those brothers that sing?”
“No.” I moan at the same moment Rizzy says, “She must be.”
Rizzy peers at me, expectant of my answer. ”Did you google?” she says—as if Google is the Bible.
I swallow—I don’t want to be outed. And I really don’t want my picture taken. If I hadn’t insisted on leaving California today—and alone—I’d be in my own apartment and later in my own little private quarters of first class. No bushy beards and no waggling eyebrows invading my space.
“Ah,” I say, though it physically pains me. “I didn’t. You might be right,” I tell her. “And.” I tap a finger to my chin. “That eyebrow thing. It’s gonna give me away. No one will believe you that I’m her. And then, what will they think of you?”
I have no idea who ”they” are. Let alone what ”they”d” think. But I go with it. Because as much as I dislike being called the ”Jonas sister” and that whole eyebrow nonsense is just that—nonsense—I need my privacy. I”m counting on it. Why else would I run away to a little Idaho town I haven”t been to in a million years?
Rizzy’s eyes pop open like a window blind unhinged with my question. “You’re right… ah—I didn’t catch your name.” She holds out her palm again.
I swallow. Is Delaney too close to Lane? Did she google? Because if she did, surely she’d be gifted with my birth name.
My mouth drops open, but for three long seconds, no sound escapes. Rizzy blinks six times before I squeak out an answer. “Ah, Dee,” I say, using the nickname my sister occasionally calls me.
Rizzy smacks her palm to Manny’s thigh. “You’re right, Dee. I’ll just take a picture of you walking away. The back of you. That should be believable.”
“You been to Coeur d’Alene before?” Manny says. He digs into the front pocket of his overalls and pulls out a chicken leg. A crispy fried chicken leg!
My stomach turns as I watch him bring that leg, the skin falling from the bone, to his hair-covered lips.
I blink, but I can’t stop watching. I’m pretty sure there is a piece of denim fuzz on the side of that leg and Manny is about to consume it.
“Oh, Dee,” Rizzy sings—though I can’t see her past the chicken leg. “Coeur d’Alene? You been?”
I’m so focused on the chicken fuzz that I don’t even consider a lie. The truth just falls right out. “My family vacationed here once. Before my parents split up.”
“D-I-V-O-R-C-E,” Rizzy spells, and in my peripheral, I see her eyeballs slide from my face to Manny’s.
A quiet whistle slips between Manny’s tongue and teeth, wet with chicken leg grease.
“That’s why Manny and I never did get married. You can’t get divorced if you aren’t married.” She pats his leg with her balled-up fist.
I stir in my seat, then cram my eyes closed—and away from all things chicken and hairy. “That’s so true.” I flutter my eyes open and turn and peer out at the empty aisle just as the fasten seatbelt sign lights up. The airline workers stand at the front and go through the motions of showing us what to do in case of an emergency.
Rizzy and Manny listen, giving me space—at least for the moment. I breathe and think back to when I was young, when we came to this touristy little town and actually spent time together as a family. Mom acted human and Dad wasn’t consumed with gambling. Eryn and I were just little—Eryn was so young she probably doesn’t even remember the trip. We were together. We were a family. No one fought and no one judged. We played and laughed together.
That week was the most peaceful, sweet week of my growing-up life. I have one memory of a happy family and it takes place in Coeur d”Alene, Idaho.
So, who cares that I haven’t been back in eighteen years—my life could use a little peaceful and sweet. I’m hoping Coeur d’Alene does the trick.