Chapter 6 #2
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do first…
we’ll grab you some marshmallows,” I tell her, stuffing the handle of her lunchbox in my mouth so I can pour the bribe into her waiting palms. Several spill onto the floor and I kick them out of the way because I have about three more seconds before my manager hangs up.
“And then we’re going to get you in the car.
” I’m doing some sort of awkward gallop now as I exit the front door and shelter Quinn’s face from the mob of flashing cameras that greets us.
The call rings for a fifth and final time, and I drop everything but Quinn to answer it.
“Todd?” I clutch the phone against my ear as I plop Quinn in her car seat. Once she’s buckled, I’m chasing a rolling water bottle down my driveway. “Can you hear me?”
“Hey, man. How’s it going?” he asks.
“Rhett Dawson, what’s it like to be back at your childhood home?”
“When can your fans expect you to return to the stage?”
“Care to clear the air on what happened at the Nashville show?”
Reporters are feeding me question after question as I shove everything I dropped into the back seat and slam the door.
“Where… you?”
The middle of Todd’s sentence gets lost when I turn the car on and my phone connects to the Bluetooth. The fact that he’s still on the call is all I care about. I reach over the passenger seat to watch out the rear window as I back out of the driveway.
Several people rush to the sides of my car as soon as it touches the public sidewalk, knocking on the windows and pressing microphones to the glass.
They have zero decency, clawing at the clear surface and shouting questions over each other.
I’m always afraid it’s going to scare Quinn, but all she does is blink at them as if strangers plastered against your car window is normal.
I’m nervous one of these times they’re going to stand behind my car and I won’t be able to leave.
“Where are you?” Todd asks a second time.
“Trying to back the fuck out my driveway!” I holler, glaring at one of the paps.
“I’m sorry, man. I wish there was more I could do.”
I don’t need him to defend the situation. It’s not something one thinks about before diving into this career, especially when a child’s involved. But the truth is, if I was in Nashville it would be no different. This is part of the gig.
“Did you talk to the label? What did they say?” I change the subject.
“Do you want the good news or bad news first?”
“I want this guy to get the hell off the sidewalk.”
“Okaaay, we’re going with good. You sound like you need it.”
“Just get to the point, Todd.”
“Right.”
The reporters take the hint, and I finally make it to the street when Todd lays it on me.
“The label is willing to renegotiate the tour.”
A sigh and a brief hit of relief follow his announcement, until I remember there’s bad news coming.
“And?”
“If you finish the album.”
Shit, I mutter to myself. It’s been months since I’ve written a single lyric. It’s not for lack of trying. Every time I pick up a guitar there’s a deep ache inside my chest that no amount of drive or motivation can push past. I don’t know how to fix it.
“I already told them you’d agree to this because I believe in you,” Todd says in the wake of my silence. “Is the new studio done?”
I peek out the front window at the two-car garage with the finished second story. A table saw and drill still sit in the yard from where Will and his crew worked until dusk last night. I haven’t seen it yet because he told me he’d stop by later today to show me the finished product.
When I don’t answer, he assumes it’s a yes. “While your daughter is in school, use the time.”
What time? He doesn’t have any idea what it’s like to be a single parent with no daycare.
There is no time. Last week was spring break.
She was home all the time. The week before that, I weeded the flower beds, cleaned the house, and grocery shopped.
Every day was filled with something. A constant sprint.
I barely had a moment to breathe let alone write.
Creativity takes time and space. Two things I don’t have.
“How long?” I ask him. I need to know the reality of their expectations before agreeing to anything. I’m better off renegotiating at this stage than signing on to something that’s unachievable.
“Five weeks. They want the album we promised them finished the first Friday in May, and they’ll pick up the second half of the US tour dates starting in Denver the following Saturday.”
Pre-accident Rhett could have given that to them in a week, no problem.
El was taking care of Quinn full time. I was writing music.
Those were our roles. I sit in that for a moment, recognizing how selfish it sounds.
Wondering if I told her enough how much I appreciated her for that.
She sacrificed a lot for our family. Made this career possible for me.
What the hell am I supposed to do now? I agreed to move back here for all the “help” I’d be surrounded with.
I leaned into it the first couple weeks, but now it’s a nightmare.
My parents are gone, Emma’s working all the time, and Caroline is already around more than I want.
I’ll figure this out on my own. I will.
I have to.
“I’ll do it,” I say.
He cheers. “I knew you would! I’ll have them draft up the new contract and get it emailed over to you by this afternoon.”
I suddenly feel sick.
“’Kay. I gotta go. I’m at Quinn’s school.”
“See ya, Daddy Dawson.” I hear him chuckle again before hanging up. It sounds so lighthearted, and I kind of hate him for it. Other than managing my schedule, the guy is free as a bird. No expectations, no kids, just work.
I release a pent-up sigh. What the hell did I just agree to?
Five weeks to write three songs, that’s what.
I’m pushing the twenty-miles-an-hour speed limit by ten over as I close in on the parent drop-off lane. Other than a crossing guard who’s chatting with a guy in a suit, there’s only one other car in front of me.
At least I’m not the only late parent. I slam into park behind it and shove against the door. Quinn is fisting her car seat straps by the time I get to the back.
“Come on, Quinn. We’re late.” I try to pry her fingers away, but she clenches on even tighter, her knuckles turning white.
“No!” she screams, slapping at my hands.
I try to press the button as she boxes at my arms. “Please, Quinn,” I beg.
She’s kicking her legs now. There are so many flailing limbs I can no longer get to the buckle on her chest.
“Quinn!” I pin her hands down. “We’ve got to go!”
She slackens enough that I can quickly release the chest buckle and feed her arms through the loose straps. We’re making a total scene at this point as I sling her backpack over my shoulder and lift her by the underarms. She hangs like a limp noodle over my shoulder.
I’m two seconds away from having a total breakdown like the toddler in my arms. Nothing I’m doing is working. I need a different approach. I can’t take her in like this, or she’ll disrupt the entire school. So, I stop and kneel, setting her on my bent knee.
“It’s going to be okay. We don’t have to go in, okay?” I say in hushing tones. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve used the word okay. I don’t know what I’m even promising. I need her to go to school today. How people have more than one of these infuriating creatures is beyond me.
“Need any help? I’m great with children.”
When I look up, a head is blocking the sun. Harsh shadows conceal most of his face. Based on his suit, it’s the same guy I saw talking to the crossing guard.
I’m a little busy here, I want to tell him. “No, I’m good, thanks,” I say instead.
I drop my attention back to Quinn. She’s calmed down now that she’s nestled against my neck. I gather her in my arms and stand.
“Listen, the school puts on a play the third Saturday in May. I was wondering if you’d be willing to help with the musical production part, being Rhett Dawson and all?”
He taps my shoulder as if I’m in on his joke. It’s my least favorite part about being home. People feel like they can ask for favors here. Pretend they know me personally when they don’t.
What is he… the drama teacher? Do they even have those in preschool? Well, I guess technically they also have a grade school. They very well could put on some type of play. I still feel the need to clarify with this guy that my tie to this institution is under the age of five.
“My daughter’s in the preschool.”
“It’s open to all age groups. You’d be a big asset to the program.”
By asset he means you’ll draw in a crowd that’ll help fund this private school. It’s non-profit, but I know they offer tuition assistance to people who can’t afford to pay to come here. If I wasn’t late right now, I’d consider it for that reason alone.
“I really gotta get my daughter to class,” I say.
“Just think about it.”
I was too flustered with Quinn when he first approached to ask for this guy’s name. Now it feels too late. I say, “Sure,” just to get him off my back, and then I sprint. Ten yards ahead of me I run into the owner of the other car.
“Well, if it isn’t the runaway nanny,” I say to Summer, a bit out of breath.
It would be a lie if I didn’t admit to the fact that I spent all last night wondering what I said that made her abandon Quinn’s party without a goodbye.
If I somehow crossed a boundary or made her feel uncomfortable when all I was trying to do was to figure out her angle.
The hallway was the best place I could come up with that was out of Caroline’s earshot.
I should have been floored to see her at my front door, but I wasn’t anything but grateful.
Appreciative of the fact that she did exactly what I hoped she would: she got my mother-in-law off my back for the afternoon.
Because of Summer, Caroline spent the rest of the day focused on Quinn, under the assumption that her time with her granddaughter would soon be limited.