Page 101 of The Roads We Follow

Micah D., bus-driving ex-therapist:

Not sure.

I’m still distracted by his text when I overhear the interviewer start her wrap-up.

“What our audience can’t see here is what an incredible support system Luella has in her three daughters. They’re all standing off camera here, waiting to dote on their mother”—she leans forward—“and likely on you, too, Cheyenne. I saw the hug your mama and aunties gave you when you came off that stage. They’re proud of you.”

Cheyenne grins at us. “I’m proud of them, too.”

Tonya twists back to Mama. “I’m sure in a family like yours, there must be all sorts of stories, which is why I was thrilled when my producer stumbled across news of a book in the works written by your daughter. I’m a huge book nerd, and I just love a juicy origin story.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Is it too early to give us a teaser?”

A sickening hush falls over the tent as my pulse slams to a stop. Mama lifts her head to scan the three of us while Cheyenne’s panicked gaze darts straight to me. I feel the millisecond Adele tracks it, and every second thereafter when her gaze drills a hole through my temple.

No. No, no, no, no, no...

My mama’s practiced smile holds, but there’s a hesitation in her speech. “Sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t say much about it.”

Tonya bobs her head and glances down at her notes. “Oh, of course, well, we’ll be sure to check back before it releases next year, but I know I won’t be the only one adding it to my shelf.”

I don’t know if the interview lasts another hour or another minute because every sound mushes together to form one ugly mosh pit of noise inside my skull. I’m aware of everything and nothing and then it’s over. Only, before I can utter a word in explanation, Adele cuts me off with a hard shake of her head. “Save it for the bus.”

Our silent walk across the dark and dusty parking lot feels like a death march, but try as I might, I cannot make sense of how this is happening. I haven’t even signed a contract yet!

The instant the five of us Farrows are closed inside the stuffy bus, Adele speaks calmly from the bottom of the inside steps. “Tell me it’s not true, Raegan.”

I was expecting anger—rage, even—but the pinch of pain in her voice momentarily freezes my own.

“Tell me the secret meeting you had with that editor wasn’t you going behind your family’s back. Tell me you didn’t sell your mother out just so you could finally see your name printed on a book cover.”

“You’ve been talking to an editor?” Hattie’s face looks as if I just struck her across the cheek.

The tiny bag of pretzels I consumed before the show threatens to come up, and my heart is beating so violently inside my chest that it’s a battle to hear myself think. “No, I mean, yes, I did meet with an editor a few weeks ago, but that meeting wasn’t—”

Adele pushes away from the closed door and takes each step into the lounge at an excruciatingly slow pace. “What did you do, Raegan?”

“Adele,” Mama admonishes. “Stop this madness right now. You know your sister would never do anything without asking my permission first. That interviewer was obviously mistaken.”

Her defense of my character slices so deeply I wonder if a person can die from internal bleeding caused by shame.

“Mama,” I whisper shakily, as sweat gathers as the back of my neck from lack of air circulation. “I was going to tell you everything after the festival. I’ve only written three chapters so far, andI’d never sign a contract without your approval first. But my book isn’t the only—”

“If you didn’t sign anything, then how do you explain the media?” Adele presses. “How do you explain your name being attached to a book we knew nothing about?”

“Adele,please.” I swing around to face her. “I was going to tell you after we left Tulsa, that day on the bus when I sat with you at the table and you told me you didn’t want any more distractions—”

She jerks back. “Is that your defense? To blamemefor your disloyalty?”

“Stop.” Cheyenne pushes forward. “Auntie Rae is writing this book because she’s trying to help us—listen to her.”

Adele’s mouth smacks open, and for a full three seconds her gaze drags between my niece and me. The gutted look on her face sears into my conscience. “You confided your secret book to mydaughter?”

Mama’s eyes are glassy when she lowers herself onto the sofa. “Help us understand what you’ve done, sweetheart.”

Heat builds behind my eyes. “The week before we left, I found out from a trusted friend who works in publishing that there’s a book being released about Mama. The book deal was signed this spring, and the author has gone to great lengths to protect their anonymity, including using a ghostwriter. I read their sample chapters.”

Hattie plops down on the arm of the sofa Mama’s seated on with an expression I’ve seen far too many times over the last year. The same expression I’ve feared ever since Chip confirmed the unsanctioned book was likely the work of someone harboring a vendetta against our family.

I fight to speak with a confidence I don’t feel. “From the little I was able to read, the proposed book synopsis includes some unflattering history about Mama and the label that has never been shared publicly. Including ...” I hesitate. “A claim to fraud and the mismanagement of company finances. That’s the reason I’m writing a book in my own words—to create a diversion by offering fans acredible narrative to distract from the fake one. Something real and true that honors Mama and our family history at the label.”

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