“Long story,” Betty said. “I’m literally taxiing to the gate now at LAX. When are you getting to town?”
“A few hours. You’re there? Right now?”
“Yeah. I was told to come out and ride this horse by Hank. Despite my protests, he forced me to go. He said, ‘You have no one here,’ like I was the loneliest girl in the world.”
I snickered, hearing the playback of that conversation in his cowboy accent.
“So, will I see you? Can I stay and watch you all perform? Laguna Beach is only a couple of hours from there.”
“We don’t perform for days?—”
“Well, good, because I can ride and then come up to see you.”
“It’s not so simple, skatt.” I looked at Dad.
He had his I’m-not-being-nosey mug on.
“You really don’t want to see me?” Her voice dropped, hurt.
“No, I do. Very much. It’s just… my father is here with me to watch me play. His idea. Not mine.”
In adorably simple Swedish, she said, “Most dads love me.”
“You know it’s unfair to weaponize this language,” I responded in Swedish.
“Weapons?” She asked.
“It’s unfair toweaponizeit against me as you so often do.” I chuckled. “The issue is that a crew is also following me.”
“Oh.”
We each sat with that. As we did, I watched Max Mixxson and his crew pass through the row ahead, settling in for the first-class boarding call. The crew focused on him as much as I did. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was a setup. I looked to the band, trying to gauge their reactions. Barry and Alicia shot daggers as Clarice hand-talked to my Dad. My father wasthankfully too absorbed in going on about my social life to my bandmates, that he ignored Max. It was for the best. Even in his current state, he’d want to clean the guy’s clock. No one needed that on camera.
Alia made eye contact, then quickly returned to her phone, all under Max’s watchful gaze. I couldn’t help but observe Max never let Alia out of his sight. Every time I saw that little girl, I wanted to tell her to run for the hills and save herself. She was so young.
“Are you there, baby?” Betty asked.
“Yeah. I’m here. Uh… sorry. Look, let me think about it. I’ll call you when we land in Palm Springs.”
“Sure,” Betty said. “Well, fly safe.”
“Will, do, älskling.”
I hung up and turned to see my father’s judgement.
“What?”
“You call her älskling?” He asked in Swedish.
“Ja! What is it to you?” I grumbled, standing. “I need a walk. I’ll be back well before we board.”
I didn’t care where I went. I fled the gate and down the terminal to the nearest coffee shop. I grabbed a double shot of espresso—something that wouldnothelp my disorientation from jet lag—and ducked into the sweet shop next door. As I perused candy bars, thinking about what my father might prefer, Max appeared.
Heart stopping, I backed away, almost knocking over a carousel of chocolate covered almonds.
“I heard you got a break,” Max said.
I picked up the two bags that fell and ignored him.
