8. Leah Mae
LEAH MAE
I pulled up outside my dad’s house, a brown paper sack with our breakfast sitting on the passenger’s seat.
I’d left Kelvin back at the cabin. I was still mad at him about last night.
Plus, things were tense between him and my dad.
I’d hoped once my dad got to know Kelvin, he’d warm up to him.
Now I figured keeping them apart was better.
Dad didn’t seem to hate him, but he wasn’t all that impressed either.
And I wanted my last visit with my dad to be a good one.
Truthfully, I wasn’t sure how I felt about Kelvin right now.
Maybe it was just because we were fighting, and I was still annoyed about last night.
We’d had arguments before, but this one felt different.
Like it was breaking something open inside me.
I was a little bit afraid of the feeling—afraid to face what it might mean.
I owed a lot to Kelvin. We’d met when I was twenty and in need of a new agent.
I’d signed with his agency, and he’d been instrumental in nurturing my career.
Nothing romantic had happened between us until about two years ago.
But our relationship had grown naturally, mostly due to the amount of time we spent together.
I traveled so much, moving from place to place, there were few constants in my life. Especially when it came to people. I’d had a long string of model roommates, lived in temporary rentals, always surrounded by a sea of changing faces.
Kelvin had been a constant. He’d been the one meeting me at the airport.
Helping me plan everything from itineraries to my next career moves.
When I was exhausted or frustrated with my schedule—when the not-so-glamorous side of being a model was too much—he’d been the one I called.
The one who understood. He lived the business just like I did.
It was hard to find things in common with people who didn’t share the same lifestyle, and the world of modeling had provided a connection.
But how much of our relationship was based on my success?
If my career went away tomorrow—if no acting gigs ever came through and I faded away into obscurity—would Kelvin still care about me?
He’d always made me feel like I had someone to take care of me.
But I’d also been making him a lot of money.
What would happen if the money dried up?
If I was no longer his star client? Would he still want me then?
And what did it say about our relationship that I didn’t know the answer to that question?
I got out of the car, grabbing our breakfast. The sun was warm on my skin, and birds chirped in the trees out back. Dad’s house wasn’t far from town, but a soft quiet was settled over his house. My ring glinted in the sunlight, and I paused, looking down at my hand.
When I’d agreed to marry Kelvin, it had seemed like an easy decision.
He hadn’t really proposed, in the traditional sense.
He’d brought up the idea, and we’d talked about how it made sense.
Back in Los Angeles, having just returned from New York and getting ready to fly out to Wyoming to film Roughing It , getting married had seemed like the obvious next step.
I hadn’t been starry eyed and squealing over my engagement ring.
The ring itself had been an afterthought, picked up while we were out shopping for other things a few days later.
But it had seemed sensible to get married.
The whole thing felt like a business arrangement. Like signing on with his modeling agency, only for life.
But I was probably being dramatic because of what had happened at the Lookout last night.
Kelvin was out of his element, and yes, being kind of a jerk about it.
But he wasn’t always that way. Bootleg Springs hadn’t grown on him the way I’d hoped it would, but it wasn’t his sort of place.
He was an urban guy—born and raised in L.A.
To him, a city of less than a million people was a small town .
A place like Bootleg Springs was barely a neighborhood in his eyes.
I’d grown up here, so I knew what it was like.
He didn’t have the same nostalgia for it.
I couldn’t expect him to fall in love with the place just because I’d lived here as a child.
I was sure that by the time we got back to L.A., everything would be back to normal. He’d figure out my next career move, we’d get married, and everything would be fine. Like he’d said, I was at a crossroads. I should be excited for what the future had in store.
In the meantime, I was going to have one last visit with my dad.
I knocked on the front door as I opened it. Of course it wasn’t locked. People didn’t lock their doors in Bootleg. It just wasn’t done .
“Hey, Daddy,” I said when I came in. “I brought breakfast.”
He hadn’t been on his front porch—which was strange because the weather was so nice—and he wasn’t in his recliner, either. His truck was outside, so I knew he had to be home. But looking around, I didn’t see him.
“Daddy?”
Betsy Stirling came out of the back bedroom. She was nearing fifty—pretty, with a bit of gray in her short blond hair. “Oh good, I was about to call you.”
“Is Dad okay?”
“Well, he is, and he isn’t,” she said. “He’s been having a bit of trouble breathing this morning. I made him call Doc Trevor. Doc said it was all right for Clay to stay home as long as he rests and doesn’t get worse. Otherwise, he’s to go get checked out at the hospital.”
“Oh, no.”
“I’ve been having a hell of a time keeping him from getting up for every little thing,” she said. “I tell you, Leah Mae, men either act like they’re dying when they have nothing but a bit of a cold, or they’re up and working when they’re at death’s door. There’s no in between.”
I sighed and put our food on the counter. “Thanks for checking in on him. I appreciate it.”
“No trouble at all, sweetie,” she said. “Now if you don’t mind me, I’ll get a few things done around here. You’re on keep-your-daddy-in-bed duty.”
“Got it,” I said. “Thanks.”
I let Betsy get on with her work while I unpacked our breakfast and put it on a tray I found in a cupboard. It was just muffins, but I wanted to make sure Dad didn’t get up. If he was supposed to rest, I was going to see to it that he did.
Dad was in bed with his head propped up against two pillows. His oxygen tank was on the far side of the bed, the rubber tubing running over the side. His skin was pale, almost ashen, and he coughed when I came in.
“Hey, Daddy.” I set the tray down on his dresser. “I brought breakfast.”
He coughed again, and I didn’t like the way it sounded. So raspy. “Thank you, sunshine.”
“That cough doesn’t sound so good.”
“I’m all right,” he said.
I sighed and helped him sit up a little more so he could eat.
“I think you’re just saying that so I won’t worry.” I pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down with my plate.
“I don’t want any fuss,” he said. He coughed again before he started eating.
“No fuss might mean you wind up in the hospital again,” I said.
He just grunted.
“Daddy, it’s okay to admit you’re not feeling well.”
“I just don’t want you changin’ your plans on account of me,” he said. “I’ll get on just fine.”
“Now that’s something I don’t want you worrying about,” I said. “I need you to do something for me.”
“What’s that?”
“I need you to be honest,” I said. “If you’re getting sick, you need to call me.
If you feel worse, tell me about it. Let me help you.
It’s worse for me to find out later that you were sick.
Even if I can’t make it home, I can still call around and make sure you have the help you need.
And if you don’t, I’m going to bribe Betsy to spy on you and report back. ”
The lines in the corners of his eyes deepened when he smiled. “All right, sweetheart. I will.”
“Promise? ”
He laid his calloused hand on mine and squeezed. “Promise.”
We finished our breakfast and I stayed a while longer.
He needed to rest, so I didn’t bother him, but I didn’t want to leave, either.
I sat out on the front porch in his rocking chair and gazed out at the trees.
Listened to the breeze. It was a nice day—not too hot.
Would have been perfect for a dip in the lake. Or a walk through the woods.
Where would Jameson and I have gone today, if we were still kids? Probably the woods. We’d always liked to go exploring when it wasn’t too hot. Maybe he’d have shown me a new climbing tree. Or a bird’s nest he’d found. He’d been so good at spotting things that other kids missed.
I ran into town to make sure my dad had plenty of groceries before I had to leave.
I stocked up on things that would be easy to prepare.
When I got back to my dad’s house, he was sound asleep.
He needed his rest, so I didn’t wake him.
I left him a note assuring him I’d call to check on him when I got back to L.A.
I felt heartsick over having to leave my dad. And Bootleg. I needed some comfort food, so I texted Kelvin to let him know I was going out to eat at Moonshine—with or without him. He texted back to say he’d go with me, so I drove out to the cabin to pick him up.
Moonshine was a landmark in Bootleg Springs, with some of the best food you could hope for. A smiling Clarabell, with her brassy red beehive hairdo, seated us in a booth near the window.
“My goodness, Leah Mae Larkin,” Clarabell said when she came over to take our orders. “It is so lovely to see you back here in Bootleg Springs.”
“Thanks,” I said. “It’s nice to be home.”
Kelvin raised an eyebrow at me. “Home? ”
“Bootleg Springs is always home,” Clarabell said with a wink. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have the meatloaf and mashed potatoes,” I said.
“Do you have anything that’s gluten-free?” Kelvin asked, still eying the menu.