Authors: Susan Mallery
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“T
RY
THIS
,
” D
ESTINY
SAID
and played the chord on her guitar. “The rhythm is off, so it’s harder to follow. I asked Dad once why he wrote it that way, and he didn’t have an explanation. I think he was drunk.”
Starr giggled. “He used to drink a lot. I’ve read some stuff online about what he was like.”
“Not everything you read about Dad is true,” Destiny told her. “There are a lot of stories that people make up. I guess because it sells magazines or allows the teller to pretend to be close to someone like Jimmy Don Mills. There have been a couple of unauthorized biographies written about him. One of them is mostly accurate, if you want to read that.”
“I’d like to.”
Starr tried the chord again, this time singing along with the song.
“Good,” Destiny murmured.
She hoped that focusing on the music would prevent her sister from seeing the awfulness of the conversation. No teenager should have to read a biography to learn about her father. Not when the man was still alive and more than capable of spending time with her. But that wasn’t Jimmy Don’s way. He was in Europe for a couple more months, and after that, he was heading to Asia. Places where he could be adored by screaming fans.
In her head she understood that he needed to feel relevant. And for all she knew, money was an issue. Their father had often lived large. He’d always been generous—she had the trust fund to prove it—and sometimes that generosity got the better of him.
“And in the night, I remember my denim promises. And think of you,”
she sang, joining in with her sister at the end of the song. “Good. You’ve been practicing.”
Starr smiled. “Plus, I’m learning a lot at camp. The classes help. I’m learning to play the keyboard.”
“When camp’s over, we can get you an instructor in town,” Destiny offered. “I’m happy to teach you what I know, but I never studied music.”
Starr rested her arm on her guitar and shook her head. “I don’t understand that. You’re so good. You were nominated for a Grammy when you were, like, eight. You could have had a career a thousand times over. Why didn’t you want to be like your parents?”
Two weeks ago Destiny would have dismissed the question or at least tried to change the subject. Now she knew that the best way to connect with her sister was through honest, caring conversation. Not that she was an expert, but two sessions of family therapy had already taught her a lot.
“Living on the road isn’t anything I would enjoy,” she began. “You don’t get to see much of the places where you play. You perform, drive all night, then set up the next day. If you’re lucky, you have a few hours to walk around town.”
“How did you go to school?”
“If I was on the road with my parents, I didn’t. Or they brought along a tutor. Sometimes they left me at home, and then I went to regular classes.”
Starr picked out a few notes on her guitar. “But you never belonged, right? Living like that, it would have been hard to make friends.”
“It was.”
“Do you think that’s why you move around now? Because you don’t know how to be in one place?”
An unexpected and insightful question, Destiny thought. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe I’ve been reliving what I know.”
Starr glanced at her then looked away. “Do you get lonely?”
“Sometimes. When I do, I play music or write a song. It’s different here,” she admitted. “I have friends in a way I never have before. People let you in.”
“I know, right?” Starr smiled. “Like at camp. I’m just one of the group. It’s nice to belong.”
“It is. We’re going to have to figure out where we’re going to live. I have my place in Austin, but it’s a rental and too small for us. I haven’t really had a home base in a long time. I meant what I said. I’ve given notice with my company. We’ll get a house or something.”
Starr stared at her. “You’re really quitting?”
“Of course. You need to be settled. High school is a really important time.”
“You didn’t go to high school.”
“I know, and sometimes I think it would have been good for me. A rite of passage, so to speak.” She shrugged. “We don’t have to decide right away. You can think about it.”
“What if I want to stay here? In Fool’s Gold.” Starr bit her lower lip then spoke in a rush. “We both have friends here, right? And the schools are really good. We like the town, and you’re dating Kipling, so that could work out.”
Her tone was hopeful, her eyes huge. Destiny drew in a breath. Stay. She’d never stayed anywhere before and even after realizing she would need to have a permanent home for Starr, it had all been more theoretical than reality.
There were pluses to staying, she thought. As Starr had pointed out, they had friends. A community. She liked what she knew about the town. It was big enough to have things to do but not so large that they couldn’t belong. They could find a cute house—maybe one of the older ones in an established neighborhood. Fix it up together. Not that she knew anything about remodeling, but they could learn together.
As for Kipling, they weren’t dating. They were friends. And they’d had sex. And she was having dinner at his house. But that wasn’t dating, was it? Because he was not part of her sensible plan. There was no way Kipling was interested in a sexless marriage and to be honest, around him, she didn’t want one, either. So how could they have a meeting of the minds with all those hormones getting in the way? Not that he was asking or anything. They were friends. It wasn’t love or anything close to love.
“Destiny?”
“Sorry.” She shook her head in an attempt to clear her head. “Fool’s Gold works,” she told her sister. “I’m happy to stay if that’s what you want.”
“Really?” Starr put down her guitar and threw herself at Destiny. They hugged, then Starr bounced back to her cushion and grinned. “That is so cool. Because I’ve been thinking I want to start a band.”
“What?”
“A girl band. Guys make everything complicated. We’ll play music and write songs, and it’s gonna be great.”
Destiny fought the beginnings of a headache. “I don’t know what to say,” she admitted.
Starr laughed. “You’ll get used to the idea. In the meantime, I need to start writing songs, and I don’t know how. How do you do it?”
Destiny was still caught up in the
girl band
comment, and it was hard to switch gears. She decided that her concerns, aka terrors, about Starr being in a band were probably best left for a family therapy session and instead told her sister, “Wait right here.”
She walked to her bedroom and collected her battered notebook from her nightstand, then returned to the living room.
“This is how I do it,” she told her sister as she sat next to her. “I’m old-school. If you want to try working on the keyboard directly, there are a lot of programs that can help you with that. I write the lyrics first, then find the melody. Sometimes they come together, but not often.”
She flipped through the pages until she found her favorite song in progress.
“This is what I’m working on. It’s close, but not right yet.”
Starr leaned over Destiny’s shoulder. “‘We can’t even trust, and we don’t know how to live,’” she read, then picked up her guitar and played a couple of chords. “What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know.” Destiny strummed with her then flipped the page. “Here’s the melody I’ve been playing with. Can you read the music?”
Starr looked at the notes then played them on her guitar. Destiny closed her eyes and listened. After a couple of seconds she realized what was missing.
“How about this?” she asked, changing one of the chords and flipping back to the lyrics.
“From across the room, the distance is clear. I see you through the heartbreak, you see me through the fear.”
Starr nodded and joined in.
“The time we spend together, the life that we could find. You could be my best regret, I could be your peace of mind.”
Her sister stopped. “Did you mean this as a romantic ballad? Because, in a way, it’s sort of about us.”
Destiny glanced at the page. “I didn’t see that before, but you’re right.”
Starr flushed, then glanced down at the page. “What if you change the end to this?”
Two hours later, they’d finished the song. Destiny ordered a pizza, then sat next to Starr while they waited for the delivery. She had her tablet set up with the external microphone for them to record their final version. When they were done, Destiny laughed.
“We have a hit.”
“You think? I didn’t help much. It’s your song.”
“It’s our song,” Destiny corrected. “You’re good at collaborating. We should do this again.”
“I’d like that.”
* * *
K
IPLING
TOOK
THE
STEAKS
out of the fridge and set them on the counter. Destiny was due over any minute, and he wanted to give the steaks an hour or so to warm up before he put them on the grill.
He had the fixings for salad. She’d told him she would bring a potato dish, along with dessert.
He still wasn’t sure how the evening was going to go. While seduction was on his mind, he’d made a promise not to remove any clothing. He grinned as he walked toward the living room. Not that keeping her dressed would get in the way of seducing her. Despite his embarrassing first performance with her, he had skills.
But tonight was about more than that. Because the truth was, he liked being with her. Just talking. Or laughing. She was interesting and funny, and when he was around her, the world was a better place.
The doorbell chimed right on time. He opened the front door to find Destiny holding two glass dishes, both covered. One was a bowl and the other rectangular. Although he was a lot more interested in the woman carrying them than any contents.
“Hi,” she said, her smile just a little tentative.
“Come on in.”
He stepped back to let her enter, then took the large bowl from her. “What did you bring?”
“Roasted Potato Salad and S’mores Bars. Did you know there’s a Fool’s Gold Cookbook? I found it at Morgan’s Books the other day, and I’ve already made a couple of recipes. They’re really good.”
She was nervous. He sensed it in the speed of her words and the way she kept looking at him then glancing away. He liked that she was a little off guard. It evened things up. Because looking at her left him damned close to speechless.
She’d traded in her usual jeans or cargo pants and T-shirt for a strappy summer dress. It was fitted to the waist then flared out to just above her knees. The pale green color was pretty against her skin.
Her hair was loose and wavy, and she’d put on a little makeup for the evening. All good signs in his book. While the “d” word had never been used, Destiny was acting like this was a date.
They walked into the kitchen. She put down her dish. He slid the potato salad into the refrigerator then turned to face her. She’d set her dessert on the counter.
He moved close, took her hands in his, then leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured against her mouth.
“Thank you.”
“Tonight is going to be fun.”
“I hope so.”
He flashed her a smile. “Trust me.”
She met his gaze. “I do. I trust you, Kipling.”
He’d been with a lot of women over the years. When he’d been young, he’d taken advantage of all the invitations thrown his way. As he’d gotten older, he’d been more interested in quality than volume, but women had always been available.
He’d been charmed, blown away and knocked sideways by different women, but he couldn’t remember any of them giving him such a kick to the gut with a handful of words.
He wanted to tell her that she was right to trust him. That he would protect her, be there to take care of things. Only they were having dinner, not getting married. It was the town, he told himself. Or the way she looked in her dress. Or how big her eyes got when she looked at him.
“Lemonade okay?” he asked.
“Lemonade?”
He held in a grin. “You were expecting something else?” Because wine was a lot more traditional. But he hadn’t wanted her worrying about the evening and how it would progress. Not serving alcohol went a long way toward allowing her to relax.
He stepped back and poured them each a glass, then led the way out onto the patio.
The barbecue was at the far end. There were a couple of lounge chairs by the back door. She took one, and he settled in the other. They clinked glasses.
“How’s Starr?” he asked.
“Better. We’ve had a few therapy sessions.” She smiled. “It’s not like I thought.”
“You’re not lying on a sofa, talking about your feelings?”
She laughed. “No. We sit upright and talk about problems, then the therapist offers really practical suggestions on how to approach them. Starr is going to have chores she has to do every week and get an allowance. We’ve made a list of house rules and punishments.” There was wonder in her voice.