Page 8 of Sing Me Home
“I’m with Addie. Charlie’s coming home.” Dad reached back for Addie to slap his hand.
Once she low-fived him, she held her hand out to me. “Deal?”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Sure,” I said, not the least bit serious. Because again, hope was dangerous. “If Charlie comes home for the concert, I’ll break up with Millie.”
I sealed my promise with a handshake.
three
Charlie
“Ma’am!”
I flinched and tried to pry my eyelids open, but the sun was blinding and I was too tired to care. But then, a hunger pang wrenched my stomach.
“Ma’am!”Thump, thump, THUMP!
I sat up with a jolt and winced. My ribs ached from the console being jammed into my side all night. I rolled over, squinting.
“Ma’am.” A police officer peered into my driver’s side window. He motioned for me to roll it down.
I pulled the handle and opened the door.
The man stepped back, shaking his head as I got out of my car. “I don’t need you to get out!” he said in a gruff voice. “Didn’t anyone teach you that when a cop comes up to you, you don’t exit the vehicle unless he asks you to?”
My hands shook at my sides. “Sorry. No. No one taught me that.” Not true. My adopted dad, Ashton, had taught me.
“Get back in the car and roll the window down,” the officer ordered, his hand on his gun holster.
I stared at him, tight-lipped, my eyes trying to fill with tears. What is it about having a cop approach that instantly makes a woman want to sob? I blew out my breath and mustered all my courage.
“I can’t,” I said, faking my confidence. “I’m sorry.”
“Get in the car and roll the window down,” he said a third time.
“Sir. My car won’t start. So, I literally can’t.”
“It’s too early for this.” His hand dropped from his gun and his head fell back, staring up at the sky. “You can’t sleep in your car.” He glanced past me to the Pacific Ocean. “Not in this parking lot. If you don’t move your vehicle, I’m going to have to have you towed.”
My hands started their stupid shaking again. I jammed them in the back pockets of my jeans to make them stop. “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t. I don’t have money to pay the fee.”
He folded his arms across his chest, looking put out. “License and registration."
“Yeah. Okay.” I dove into the car, rifled through my glove box and purse, and handed him what he’d asked for.
Looking at my license, his eyebrow crept up. “Virginia, huh? What’re you doing in L.A.?”
I nodded to the back seat, at my guitar case, and lied. “You know, just trying to make it big.”
He huffed. “Of course.” Then he climbed into his car.
I leaned against the hood of my beat-up Civic and pretended to study my fingernails. They were actually disgusting. I needed to wash my hands. I sniffed my right armpit. And take a shower. I ran my fingers through my hair. It was greasy-gross. Past the point of dry shampoo doing any good. I didn’t have money for a can anyway.
Every few minutes, I’d glance over to see if the officer was almost done. He was taking way too long. Great. Now he was on his phone. Laughing all twinkly-eyed. Was he flirting with the dispatcher?
When he returned, his joy was gone. He was all frowns now. “Your uncle is Ford Dupree, the country music star and actor, and your other uncle is Blue Bishop, former NFL QB for Kansas City.” Blue was my cousin actually. By marriage. Blue was married to Ashton’s niece, Anna. “Andyour parents are the authors of that Spy series.” Did he run my license or look me up on Ancestry.com? “What’re you doing living in your car with a family like that?” He held out my license and registration.
I snatched them from his hand and glared. “Just because my last name is Dupree doesn’t mean I’m related to those Duprees.” That’s what I got for not getting a new license after marrying Lorne. “That’s kind of a ridiculous assumption, don’t you?—”
