The crowd fell away as I found myself in the music. Singing always steadied me. Grounded me. With every note, every breath, my voice and my nerves grew stronger.
“All the things you do... Hit me like eighty proof...”
Our voices rose and blended, rough and smooth, strands of melody wrapping us in a magic cocoon. My hands stopped shaking on the strings. My confidence swelled as the Hummingbird sang in my arms. “One taste and I’m addicted... never be whiskey quite as smooth as you.”
Our eyes held. The last note lingered. The light from a thousandcell phones danced like fireflies in the dark. As the audience erupted, Colt gave me a little nod and a smile. I smiled back, relieved. Forgiven. No matter how bad things got, the music brought us together.
And then I turned and puked all over Mercedes’s shoes.
The first time I got sick at school, Momma picked me up from the nurse’s office. A stomach bug, the nurse said when she called home. My mother tucked me into bed in the room I shared with Amy, and I watched TV all afternoon, cuddling with the kittens, feeling safe and cherished while she brought me saltines and Coke on a special tray and Jell-O and pretzels for dinner.
Then when Daddy left for Iraq, I was so sad my stomach hurt all the time. Everybody at school kept asking, “Are you all right?” and I had to say “Fine,” because soldiers’ daughters are brave and a minister’s daughter could not lie. But if I were sick, I thought, I could go home.
So one day after lunch in the school cafeteria, I went into the girls’ bathroom and locked myself in a stall. I gagged and gagged until my face was hot and my eyes ran. It was really hard, then. But finally I stuck my finger down my throat and made myself throw up in the toilet.
And Momma left the farm and came to get me. Riding beside her in the truck, I felt ashamed and comforted and oddly powerful. She babied me for the rest of the afternoon, until Amy came home.
I didn’t throw up again for a long time after that.
But the hollow in my stomach didn’t go away, and the possibility was always there, a constant companion, a shadow awareness. Whispering. Tempting. Like a friend who tries to talk you into playing hooky.
Not a friend Momma would approve of.
A secret friend. Mine.
Even then, I knew I shouldn’t listen to temptation. But it felt sogood to have something to cling to. Something all my own. This one thing I didn’t share, even with my sisters.
Colt was late coming back to the tour bus. After a show, he needed a drink and a shower. He usually hung out with the band in the stadium locker room, grabbing a couple of beers with Zeke, the road manager, and chatting with the production crew. He’d sign autographs for a few lucky fans, meet with the VIPs and promoters, the local DJs, and the press.
I stayed away, avoiding the lines of people and tables of catered food. After Colt had seen all the people he needed to see, there was time for us.
“Everybody else wants a piece of me,” he told me once. “You’re different.”
He stood in the doorway of our private bedroom, watching as I did crunches at the foot of our king-size bed.
“You must be feeling better.”
“I’m fine.” I got self-consciously to my feet, aware of my sweat-dampened hair, the shirt clinging to my ribs. “You were wonderful tonight,” I told him.
“You put on quite a show yourself.”
I flushed, reaching for a towel to blot my face. “Sorry.”
“The guys were all talking. Some reporter dude asked if that tabloid story was true. If you were using. Or pregnant.”
“I can’t be.” I’d taken a pregnancy test a few months ago, when my period stopped, locking myself in the bathroom, shoving the wrappers down in the trash. Three tests. One line.Not pregnant.
“It does happen,” Colt said.
“I know. My nephew Robbie is a surprise baby.”
“So we’re going to a shotgun wedding?”
“Oh no. Robbie’s a year and a half old already. I just meant... Something I ate must have upset my stomach.”
It slipped out so easily, a lie worn smooth by repetition.
“That’s what I told them.” Colt gave me a brooding look. “At least if you were expecting a baby, it would be over in nine months.”
