Joe placed his hands on his belly, exaggerating its size. “I’m down ten. Only ten more to go.”
Tyler laughed and glanced at her sister. “Don’t get up or anything.”
Dylan, perched at the kitchen table, held a needle and thread between her fingers.
“What are you doing?” Tyler asked.
“Fixing the hem on Nadie’s dress.”
Dylan was an expert seamstress. With no formal training, she’d set up a home-based alterations business when Nadie was an infant. She said she’d rather spend time with her daughter than put her into daycare with a bunch of spoiled kids.
“May I borrow your car, please?” Tyler directed her question at her sister. “I want to check out the casino.”
She’d seen a lot of day-of-show disasters, and mitigating damage was the only way to solve them. She didn’t trust people to do their jobs, and she was often right not to.
“Yeah, the keys are on the hook.” Dylan seemed to be concentrating on her slip stitch, not paying any attention to her.
Did they really forget my birthday?
She crossed her fingers but saved her wish.
Everyone was at the Robertsons’ house by mid-afternoon for the last practice before the concert. The Family Band included Tyler’s brothers, Perry and Stewart; her sisters-in-law and nephews; plus the Grants and Bert. It had been years since she’d played music with her family, and it showed—her rhythm was more enthusiasm than precision, so she decided to watch.
Still, no one had said anything about her birthday.
WTF?
“Watch me, Auntie Ty!” Nadie grabbed the microphone from its stand.
“One . . . two . . .” Bert counted the band in and Nadie began to sing “River” from Joni Mitchell’s albumBlue: one of the best records ever made, according to her dad.
“Holy shit!” Tyler nodded along to the music, and when it ended, she clapped. “Bravo, honey! Bravo!”
“What did you really think?” Nadie asked, hip jutting out.
“What did I really think?” Tyler shook her head, not believing what she’d heard. “I think you’re the best singer in this family.” Which was saying something.
Tyler’s phone vibrated. It was a text message from Vegas.
Can u come 2 the Meet & Greet at 5? Radio station screw up.
Seb made the promo girl cry.
She’d gone nearly twenty-four hours without babysitting an SDM artist—possibly a new world record.Note to self: check Guinness.Vegasnever asked for favors, so this had to be important. Besides, she owed him more solids than she could remember. And she’d been on the receiving end of Sebastien’s tirades enough to know exactly how that promotions rep felt. Her boss had made her cry . . . often.
Not long after, Tyler arrived at the arena, where Vegas was waiting by the side entrance, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
As they walked down the hall, he filled her in.
“The local radio station gave away a hundred meet-and-greet passes,” he said matter-of-factly.
She scrunched her nose. “So?”
“All of them with plus-ones.”
“No!” She covered her mouth with her hand. “Two hundred in total?”
“Yeah, and when Seb found out, he yelled at the radio station’s promotions person, even though it was our intern’s fault.”
