Page 42 of Chronicles of a Rockin' Mess

I listen as Celia gives me ideas. We rethink everything. And then we rethink it again. By the time she says she needs to go and get ready for a dinner date with some actor, I’m feeling better about my plan, or my sort-of plan. But I feel more confident, and that is apparently just what I needed.

Chapter 21

Lark thinks that I don’t know anything about her, but she’s dead wrong. I could write a book about that woman. I know she left home to pursue her dreams of singing when she was only eighteen years old. I know she has a family, but she’s not super close with them. She does talk to them on occasion, but mostly on holidays and birthdays. She loves old music, and I don’t mean classic rock. She loves jazz from the forties and earlier. But there is still so much I don’t know and that is going to change.

The next day as we travel to our last solo act on the road, I talk Gwen into letting us take a bus instead of a plane. My whole “we’ll save money” argument apparently worked.

And so, I have Lark, stuck at a table playing cards. Kade and Savannah are playing guitars and singing awful songs from the eighties. Amelia was able to join us. I admit, when the six of us are together, it just feels like…home. Harry and Amelia are playing cards with us.

“I need to go study,” Amelia finally says.

“I can quiz you,” Harry says, squeezing her leg. She gives him a pointed look.

“Harry, I actually need to study.”

“Yeah, and I can help,” he says again. She laughs and playfully swats him on the chest as she gets up.

Harry follows her to the bedroom in the back of the bus. I look across the table at Lark. She grins at me and winks, and I laugh.

“Let’s play a new game,” I say to her.

“Like what?”

“Let’s play twenty questions,” I suggest innocently.

“Twenty questions?” she repeats.

“Yeah, you know, it’s when—”

“I know what it is, but why would you want to play it? I mean really, it’s not even a game,” she points out.

I shrug. “It’ll pass the time.”

She leans back against the cushion of the seat. “Fine.”

“OK, I’ll go first. What’s your favorite color?” I ask her.

“Guess,” she responds.

“That’s not how you play this game.”

She groans. “Violet. And yours is blue,” she states.

“How’d you know that?”

“Remember that time you couldn’t do that interview for…I can’t even remember what magazine. Anyhow, it was like kid reporters or something. I had to get all the answers to their questions,” she says.

“Oh,” I reply. “OK, your turn.”

“Uh…” She puts a finger to her chin as she contemplates questions.

“Come on, it can’t be that hard to think of a question,” I urge.

“It’s just…well, I feel like I know almost everything about you.”

“Really?” I ask with a pointed look.

“Well…I mean, other than some stuff about your sister, and some details on your love life that I’d rather not know, yeah. I know lots about you, Lincoln.” Her comment about Carrie catches me by surprise. She’s not wrong. I don’t talk much about my sister. It’s not that I don’t think about her. It’s just too fucking hard to talk about her.

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