Page 51 of Chronicles of a Rockin' Mess

“Great. I look forward to speaking with you,” he says. “I’m sorry to be so short, but I have a conference call in fifteen.”

I really, really want to roll my eyes, but I pretend they are glued forward, so I can’t do it. I manage a nod before he heads off toward another stage.

“Kid, you are in the big leagues now!” Hank exclaims, clapping me on the back. Leo and Joe applaud. I want to be happy with them, but Roger just leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

“What’s wrong, Larkie? Roger’s a big deal. This is a huge opportunity!” Leo asks.

“Yeah, this could jump-start your career,” Joe echoes.

My shoulders sag at their words because I know they are right, but I just can’t make myself be excited about this.

“Is it because he turned you down before?” Hank asks. I nod.

“Yeah, I may have reminded him about that,” Hank admits.

“It’s OK, Hank. I just don’t know how I feel about it, yet. You know? I guess I just need to process it,” I say.

“Well, we are proud of you. No matter what you decide,” Joe says.

I hear Mimi squeal as she approaches me. I hadn’t even seen her in the corner where she’s coming from as she holds out her arms to hug me.

“I’m so, so proud of you, sugar!” she says as she squeezes me in one of her patented bear hugs that makes breathing an impossibility.

“Thanks,” I manage to squeak. She releases me, and I take in a gulp of air. “You guys staying here tonight?”

Hank shakes his head. “We’re gonna fly home later. We have a show at Club Rouge tomorrow night.”

I smile at that. It was one of my favorite clubs to play in New Orleans.

“Wish I could join you,” I say to him.

“Well, you know you are always welcome. I’m not sure how many more of these big festivals we’ll be doing,” he says. My smile leaves my face.

“But…you had such a big crowd today!” I point out.

“You had a big crowd today,” he retorts as he points a finger at me. “Those people filed in to hear your voice, Lark. Trust me, we have a small following. We knew some of our fans would be here, but there’s a reason we were on the smallest side stage in the early afternoon. Old men jazz bands don’t exactly sell tickets.”

“Hank—” I start, but he holds up a hand.

“I’m not being a grumpy, old man. I’m just calling it like it is, kid. We’ve had our hay day, now it’s your turn,” he says as he lays his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it slightly. “Carpe diem, Lark. Carpe diem.”

Lincoln

Lark is quiet the entire flight home. Eerily quiet. I’m unsure of what’s going on with her, but it’s making me tense as fuck. When we pull up to the house, she gets out of the car and heads straight to her room.

I can no longer take it. I follow her up and put a hand on the door, so she can’t shut it. She doesn’t protest but instead tosses her bag on the bed and starts putting things away as though I’m invisible.

I sit down on the bed next to her bag.

“OK, what’s up?” I ask her. She sighs but doesn’t stop moving.

I reach out and place a hand on her arm, and she freezes, meeting my gaze for the first time since I left the stage at the festival. I knew something was wrong then, but I didn’t have the balls to question her. I’ve fucked everything up so much, I’m second-guessing myself on every move I make and every word that comes out of my mouth.

“We’re friends, right?” I ask her. Our previous discussion about talking about “us” when we get home comes back to me. Maybe now is that time.

“Yes,” she answers, her voice a barely audible whisper.

“Then, talk to me, little bird,” I encourage her.

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