Page 72 of If Not for My Baby
“She’s a sheepdog. I called her that because of how her hair hangs over her eyes. She’s getting a bit older now. All three of us ladies, worse for wear.”
“Your mam…when did she get sick?”
“Almost ten years ago.”
He looks sad. “You weren’t even through school.”
“It’s okay, though, it’s not like I was going to go to college fortheater.”
“That’s what you want to do?”
“Wanted,” I correct. “The way children want to be astronauts or pony trainers.”
“You know there are astronauts and pony trainers, Clementine.”
I narrow my eyes at him. Blades of grass invade my vision. “Not more optimism, please.” I hide behind my hands. “Us cynics—we can’t take it.”
“Suit yourself. You’re a talented singer. If you can act half as well, you’re doin’ the industry a disservice not tossin’ yourself onto one of those stages.” He nods his head in the direction of what I’m assuming is Broadway.
“Even if I still wanted to, my mom can’t be alone in Cherry Grove.”
Tom’s lips purse. “She’s there now.”
“But she has help from Mike’s mom. Beth can’t be her full-time caretaker.”
Tom just nods in understanding. I’m waiting for him to say,But you should be?I can feel myself gearing up to win an argument. But he never fires that first shot.
“She gets overwhelmed really easily,” I say, deciding to plow onward with my talking points anyway. A bull with no red cape to charge toward. “And has had her heart brokena lot. She’s beautiful—like, so, so gorgeous. You’re never allowed to meet her,” I joke, and then realize that was such a weird thing to say. “So she’s always getting screwed over by guys.”
Tom graciously ignores my overshare. “That’s a shame.”
“She’s just…she needs me, you know?”
“I don’t blame her,” he says, brushing his knuckles over my cheek. “You’re very easy to need.”
It’s such a simple handful of words. He’s flirting, he’s being charming. It shouldn’t bring a mallet down on my heart. But I never feel pitied when I talk to Tom. He has this uncanny ability to lighten the load of whatever’s weighing on me. I’ve only known him a month, but I feel more comfortable around him than I do with anyone else besides my mom.
There’s a loneliness to that mental admission—the realization of how few people I’ve let in. I’m an island—a self-imposed one, but still—yet he’s become the constant, peaceful waves lapping at my shores.
Tom pins me with that pine-dark gaze. As if he knows I’m working up to it all. Giving me space. And though adrenaline is pulsing into my palms and making them itch, and the roof of my mouth feels funny, I almost say it back.You are easy to need, too. So much so, it scares the shit out of me. I think I might be fall—
A robotic melody zaps between us and Tom jolts, digging his phone from his jeans. “Shite,” he curses. “It’s Jen.” He skims the wall of text before uttering, “The headliner’s had some kind of family emergency. I’m taking their place.”
“Oh, wow.” It’s all I can think to say. “What kind of emergency?”
He runs a hand over his mouth. “She didn’t say. I have to go do some press. I’m sorry—”
“No, of course,” I say, standing as I brush off grass, dirt, and emotionally wrought anxiety.
“If I can get away from a dinner I’m supposed to have with Jen tonight, could I take you to one more spot in the city?”
My eyes sweep the rolling field, rich with whirring insects and gentle tufts of wildflowers swaying in the soft breeze. My tongue still tastes of splendid coffee in a cheap paper cup and Tom’s lips groaning my name. He could ask me to meet him in an industrial incinerator. I’d show up in my lucky black jeans.
“Anywhere.”
Twenty-Five
According to Indy and Molly,a successful outdoor concert is pretty rare even at a major festival like Dreamland—not enough access to drinks coupled with lack of shade or other inclement weather, plus poor projection visibility in the daylight, means you can quickly find yourself singing to an audience of bored, sunburned, sober people.
