Page 7 of The Roads We Follow

“You ...what?” Adele chokes on the words. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“Because it makes no sense to travel to a festival honoring my legacy in country music on a bus that holds no legacy.” Mama’s smile broadens. “Which is why I paid Eddie to revive Old Goldie from her long slumber and give her a much-needed facelift. I adore how the gold shimmers in the sunshine, don’t you? Eddie said it’s called metal flake paint. It’s even better than the original and far better than boring black.”

“Old Goldie as in ... as in the old tour bus you’ve been storing since the ’90s?” Hattie asks, coming out of her stupor.

“That’s the one.” Mama beams. “She’s been completely renovated inside, as well—everything feels bright and open, and all the furniture has been replaced for a more comfortable ride and stay. But the best part is all the history on the walls—I had Eddie and his team reframe all the pictures inside for us. I can hardly wait to show you around.” She beams at us. “This will be the best summer we’ve ever spent together.”

I side-eye Hattie, wondering if I’m the only sister out in left field, but it would appear by all three of our slack-jawed expressions that none of us has any clue what is happening right now. As usual, Adele takes the lead before anyone else can. “What are you talking about, Mother? Only I’m going on the road with you to Watershed. Just me and you in a rented tour bus with plenty of space and a private office I can work from inside. Your band is meeting us there, remember?”

Our mother’s face looks as if she’s been waiting for this moment all her life. Never mind all the times she’s stood backstage at the Ryman or the Grand Ole Opry or any one of the hundreds of venues she’s performed at worldwide, waiting for her name to be announced. Every morsel of her anticipation seems to be sitting on the edge of its seat, waiting for whatever comes next.

“Actually, I’ve been working on a new plan—with the help of Jana. She’s been wonderful at sorting out all the logistics.” She scans our faces and speaks as if there’s a drumroll behind her. “Prior to the festival, I want to take my three daughters on a cross-country roadtrip that will end at one of my favorite places on earth. Just the four of us gals together, plus a driver. I’d like to leave in a week.”

Nobody dares to breathe, much less speak. We just keep staring. At her, the bus, and then at each other.

“Mama,” Adele says as if she’s launching in with one of a thousand reasons why a trip like this can’t work, and for once, I’m grateful for her assertiveness. The four of us on a bus for any amount of time sounds more like the opening of a true crime podcast than a luxury cross-country girls’ trip. “You have several more rehearsals with the band scheduled, as well as choreography, and one with the stylist—”

“I can play and sing those songs in my sleep, just like the band can. And choreography? I’m not Beyoncé. I’ve had the same three moves since before you were born. The four of us can certainly take a couple weeks to meander the country together before the start of the festival. I’ll only need twenty-four hours to rehearse. Tops.”

Adele shakes her head. “While I appreciate your confidence, Mother, I think it would be best to schedule a ... a girls’ tripafterthe biggest festival of your career. There are just too many variables involved to risk something untimely happening before the show. We simply have too much at stake at the label right now for anything to go awry.” She glances at the three of us for confirmation. “Maybe we can meet for a short getaway in August? A long weekend somewhere, perhaps?”

“No, that’s too close to when my kids come back home. I’d rather go beforehand. I’m not willing to give up a single hour of time with them for anything,” Hattie replies with a directness that surprises me. Despite my role as youngest child, I’m usually the one to play middleman when it comes to the communication between my older sisters.

“Hattie, I assure you, I wasn’t trying to suggest that you...” Adele stops and clears her throat before she begins again in a consoling tone I rarely hear from her. “I know firsthand how difficult the next few weeks will be on you. When Cheyenne left for college, Michael and I—”

“Cheyenne isnineteen. Aiden and Annabelle are eight and nineand about to leave the country for the first time under the care of my cheating ex-husband and his mistress. Don’t try and compare our circumstances. They’re not the same.You and Iare not the same.”

“You’re right,” Adele retorts coldly. “We aren’t. I, for one, wouldn’t have dared go to a custody appeal without proper representation or a single member of my family—”

“So I suppose you think it’s my fault I lost, then?” Hattie laughs darkly. “Of course you do. Feel free to add that to the tally of my sins, big sister. Lord knows you’ve kept a record of them.”

“That’s enough, girls,” Mama interjects. “You’re missing the whole point of this trip.”

“What do you think, Rae?” Hattie swivels toward me. “You’re the tie-breaker sister. Are you good with getting out of here for a couple of weeks?”

As much as I want to side with Hattie, my antihistamine-fuzzy mind can easily recall the plans I didn’t add to the family calendar. The one involving Tav asking me to“please hear him outover dinner”once he’s back from his music tour. At the moment, I’m not sure what I’m dreading more about the upcoming conversation—having to come up with a response or reopening a wound that’s barely had time to form scar tissue. It’s a tough call: stay home and meet up with your ex to discuss all the reasons he couldn’t love you as much as you loved him, or live on a tour bus with your two sisters and hope you’re not starring in a reboot ofSurvivor.

My mother and sisters watch my silent mental debate.

Adele narrows her eyes in that intrusive way of hers. “Please tell me your hesitation doesn’t have to do with Octavian coming back to town.”

“What? No,” I lie and cross my arms over my chest. “My relationship with Tav has nothing to do with this.”

“Wait, yourrelationship? I thought you ended things for good after what happened on his last tour,” Hattie says, looking first to Adele and then to Mama for answers. “Did I miss something?”

Adele and I eye each other. Hattie has missed more than a fewsomethingsover the last year to be sure, though most of those are what the media has been circulating about the fate of Farrow Music Productions due to the scandal involving her ex-husband.

“We’re not together. Tav just wants to talk through some things, as friends,” I clarify, unwilling to add more. Adele instructed me to keep the details to myself.

“It’s not worth it,” Hattie says flatly. “If you need any inspiration for what begging a cheater to love you looks like, look no further than my train wreck of a life.” Hattie sweeps a hand down her coffee-stained T-shirt and rumpled joggers.

“We were on a break when he—”

“Didn’t you ever watch the showFriends? Spoiler alert:‘on a break’is a big neon sign for toxic.”

“He didn’t cheat on me, Hattie.” At least, not technically. “He was up-front with me about ... you know what?” I shake my head. “Forget it. None of this even matters—we’re supposed to be talking about Mama’s trip—”

“That’s right.” Adele jumps in before I can finish my thought. “Bottom line, Mama, a trip of this length needs to be planned much further in advance. It’s clearly bad timing.”

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