Nashville 3 - What We Feel (12 page)

She and Mama both beam at me, and I think not for the first time how much alike they look. They’re twins, and a lot of people back home can’t tell them apart even though they’ve known them their whole lives.

I wipe my eyes and say, “It’s so good to see you both.”

“It’s good to see you, honey,” Mama says. “We want to hear all about everything you’ve been doing. So much excitement. I’ve been telling everybody in town.”

“We are so overdue a gabfest,” Aunt Vera says.

“There’s a Starbucks down the street,” I say.

“Perfect,” Mama says.

We walk there, Mama and Vera each holding my hand. They set right in on sharing the local gossip. It feels so familiar, so much a part of me that I am deeply homesick. Even so, I feel better already.

“WELL, IT’S NO surprise,” Aunt Vera says. “A girl as pretty as you having two boyfriends.”

“I don’t think that’s exactly what she’s saying, Vera,” Mama says, taking a sip of her house blend.

“Isn’t it?” Aunt Vera says, looking at me with a twinkle in her eyes.

“That was never my intention,” I say.

“Sometimes, these things just happen. I remember when I was young enough and pretty enough to get myself in such fixes,” Aunt Vera says, with the dramatic flair she has been known for my whole life. “Those were the days.”

“Hah,” Mama says. “Those were the days when you’d go out with the first boy who arrived to pick you up, leaving me to deal with the second one you had then stood up.”

I laugh at this image. It’s so typical of their relationship. Mama, the responsible one. Vera, leaning on her to right whatever wrongs she happened to ignite.

“So which one are you standing up, my dear?” Aunt Vera says, looking at me over the rim of her Caramel Frappuccino.

“Neither,” I say, some of my misery evident in the response.

“You’re not seeing either one?” Mama asks, and I can hear that she’s worried about me.

I shake my head. “No, but it’s fine.”

“How can it be fine?” Aunt Vera says with a cluck, cluck. “That’s a losing proposition.”

“It’s complicated,” I say.

“So is being unhappy,” she adds.

“I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to do. I have nothing to complain about.”

“The heart usually insists on having what it wants,” Mama says in her calm, common sense way. “Don’t close a door you might later wish you’d left open.”

“If only it were that simple, Mama.”

“The feeling itself is, honey. Sometimes, we just need to get out of its way.”

I SPEND THE rest of the day with them, shopping and laughing at Vera’s funny stories about her own dating life. I decide after a point that if I had ever considered taking advice from her, it would have been a bad idea.

On the way back into the hotel, we run into Holden and Thomas in the lobby. I introduce everyone, and we are all polite and friendly. I try not to give Mama or Aunt Vera any clues about my feelings for Holden, but as soon as we step in the elevator, Mama looks at me and says, “It’ll be hard for your heart to accept no on that one, honey.”

Aunt Vera nods. “Amen to that, sister.”

I’d like to offer up at least some token disagreement, but who would I be kidding?

When it’s time to leave for the show, Mama and Aunt Vera go with me to my dressing room and help me get ready. It is so wonderful having them there that I know I’m going to miss them terribly once they’re gone. We laugh and giggle more like high school best friends than aunt, mother, and daughter. I try to convince Aunt Vera that light blue eye shadow has not yet come back in style. She finally relents but still doesn’t agree.

It’s only a few minutes before I need to leave the room when a knock sounds at the door. Aunt Vera jogs over to see who it is before I can get there. She pulls it open and then stands there as if she has been lasered to the spot.

“Oh. Good. Day.” Aunt Vera utters the words with wide-eyed disbelief. She takes a step back with one hand on her chest.

“Evening, ma’am,” Case says, smiling at her with the very same smile that’s made his CDs bestsellers.

“Hi, Case,” I say. “You might need to take a little pity on Aunt Vera. She’s prone to fainting spells.”

His grin widens. “I heard you had some beautiful women in here with you tonight. Thought I’d stop by and say hey.”

His generosity shouldn’t still surprise me, but it does. Especially in light of the fact that I know he must have heard Beck and I aren’t seeing each other. “This is my mama, Mira MacKenzie. And her sister, my aunt, Vera Nelson.”

“Mira. Vera. Sure is nice to meet you ladies. I can’t tell you how much we think of your lovely CeCe here.”

“Thank you,” Mama says, her smile warm and appreciative. “We think the world of her ourselves.”

“I know CeCe got tickets for you tonight but I was hoping y’all might like to use these two from my VIP section. We’ve created a few perks for special guests, and I’d love for y’all to be a part of it.”

“Case,” I say. “Thank you. Really.”

“Goodness gracious,” Aunt Vera says. “Some days you get up and have absolutely no idea what’s in store for you.”

Case laughs. “I think there’s a song lyric in there somewhere, ma’am.”

“Be happy to work on that with you,” Aunt Vera says.

“That’s mighty kind,” Case says, smiling. He looks at Mama then, and I notice their gazes linger a moment longer than just polite interest.

Mama glances away first, and I see her cheeks brighten with color. I can’t even remember the last time I saw her affected by a man.

“Well,” Case says, “I hope y’all enjoy the show.”

“I am certain we will,” Aunt Vera says.

“Thank you so much,” Mama says.

When he’s gone, Aunt Vera waits ten seconds or so before she starts to dance around the room. “Did that really happen?”

“That really happened, Vera,” Mama says, shaking her head with a smile. “Now settle down before you hurt yourself.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Holden

I’m not sure that I’m old enough to make a conclusion like this yet, but I’m starting to wonder if it’s even possible to be completely content in this life.

I should be. In fact, this should be a high point.

We’re on the fourth week of our tour, and I don’t know that we could have even hoped for the kind of response we’ve been getting from the crowds in pretty much every city we’ve visited.

San Diego. Flagstaff. Denver. Omaha. Springfield. Columbus. Annapolis last night. And now tonight in D.C.

We’re here for the music. And to get the kind of break we’ve been given is like winning the hundred million dollar lottery. It almost never happens.

To do anything other than milk every possible moment of enjoyment from this experience makes no sense at all.

Even so, I feel like I’m living in a state of euphoria combined with one of extreme misery. Thomas was right. Staying away from CeCe, with the exception of the time that we’re actually rehearsing or performing, is the common sense thing to do. I don’t want to blow what we have going with this tour.

It just feels so wrong to put on a show the way we do, smiling, laughing, joking with each other. Beck even manages to pull this off, and I assume that’s the power of Thomas’s persuasiveness.

As soon as we’re off stage though, we go in our separate directions. I’ve heard there are big name groups who lived like this for years while they played out their contracts; a picture of unity and professionalism when they’re on stage, hating each other’s guts and not speaking when they’re off. That doesn’t make me feel any better.

If I could rewind to that night in CeCe’s dressing room and push pause for everything that I wanted to happen between us, I would. We should all be hanging out together, seeing as much of the towns we’re in as we can, but unless I go somewhere with Thomas, I’m alone. The same is true for CeCe. Which means we both spend a lot of time by ourselves.

I’m just getting out of the shower when I hear a knock on the door of my hotel room. I wrap a towel around my waist and answer it.

Thomas is standing in the hall, wearing an enormous Stetson and new cowboy boots. I lean back and give him an appraising look.

“You’ve been shopping,” I say.

“Fruits of my labor,” he says. “We’ve got the whole day to tour the city before we need to be at the arena. I thought you and me and CeCe could see what there is to see.”

I wave him in. “Aren’t you the one who grounded us from being together?”

“I’ll be the chaperone.”

“I don’t know, Thomas. I doubt that CeCe would-”

“I already asked her. She said yes.”

I can’t hide my surprise when I say, “Oh.”

“Well? Get your britches on then.”

“It seems like it’ll be awkward.”

“Probably will since you two have trouble keeping your hands off each other. I’ll sit between you.”

I roll my eyes. “What about Beck?”

“He, apparently, has a date.”

I should feel glad about this but I wonder if it hurts CeCe that he’s obviously not wasting any time in moving on. “Where are we going?”

“Where else? To hear some music.”

WE WALK THE half mile or so from our hotel to the festival in downtown D.C. Thomas keeps his word and walks in between CeCe and me. We both pretend not to notice. I can’t stop myself from stealing glimpses of her out of the corner of my eye. She’s wearing an orange skirt and a pink tank top. She looks like she’s upped her running because her arms are even leaner and more cut than they were at the beginning of the tour.

“Bark-Fest is a fundraiser for a local No-Kill rescue,” Thomas says. “Sounds like they raise a boatload of money every year.”

“That’s great,” CeCe says, but she looks distracted, as if her thoughts are somewhere else.

We’ve arrived at the concession area. Tents and booths are set up all around us, and the smell of funnel cakes and cotton candy permeates the air.

“I need a Coke,” Thomas says, pointing at a stand not too far away. “Anybody want one?”

“I’m good,” I say.

“No, thanks,” CeCe says.

“Be right back,” Thomas says.

“I thought he was going to stay between us,” I say, the words out before I think to stop them.

A small smile touches the corners of CeCe’s mouth. “He did say that, didn’t he?”