Page 28 of Betsy
“We’re fine!”
“Go away!”
I wasn’t sure who’d said what, but the outbursts like foghorns in the night made the attendant scamper to the back of the store faster than a runaway bride with a new pair of Nikes.
“You were saying?” Molly demurred as if nothing had happened.
Betsy shrugged again like her revelation wouldn’t be a big deal. “Musicians are selfish, egotistical people only out for themselves and their dreams without a thought or care for anyone they may step on or hurt along their way to the top.”
I waited for her to look at me and at least tack on ano offenseorpresent company excludedorsomething—anything, really, that would exempt me from the same box that she heaped everyone else with any musical aspirations into, the lid hammered closed with nails of her judgement.
The look never came. Nor any kind of space I could mentally manipulate to maneuver myself into a more feasible light in her eyes. No, to her I was one ofthem. Said with a sneer, derision, and heaping amounts of condescension.
She looked down at her nails, but she couldn’t keep up the act of nonchalance for long. She curled her fingers into fists. “I don’t want to be with someone like that, and I definitely don’t want to become that type of person.” She tried to brush her shoulders in ac’est la vieattitude, but no one standing in that shop believed it wasn’t a big deal to Betsy.
“Why do you think—” My voice croaked, clogged with so many emotions. I couldn’t say I wasn’t hurt, because I was. But upon closer inspection, the ache spreading across my chest was more for her than the barbed accusations she’d tossed my way.
Betsy hadn’t struck me as a particularly prejudiced person. Snarky, sure, but that had more to do with her hilarious dry sense of humor than any real ill will toward people. Which meant, if she truly felt this way about people in the music industry, she had to have a reason. And the only reasons I could think of were rooted in personal pain.
She pushed her curly mass of hair away from her face. “I didn’t always. But I’ve learned from my mistake. The consequences—” She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, the wall of indifference had been erected once more.
She pivoted to face Amanda. “You asked if I’d sing at your wedding, and I’m honored by the request.” She swallowed hard, every word costing her. “Even though I’ve made a personal vow not to sing in public, for you”—she looked around at her friends—“for all of you, I’d do anything. So, if you want me to sing, then I will sing.”
Amanda squealed and threw herself into Betsy’s arms. Molly, Nicole, and Sierra joined them in a group hug. I almost blurted out how the song was beautiful as a duet but managed to bite my tongue just in time.
There was more to the story than Betsy had been willing to tell. She’d cut herself off from saying the rest, and I couldn’t help but wonder, what else had happened?
Either way, I knew what I was going to do. Betsy had been silently challenging me from the very first moment we’d met—a test I had no intention of failing. I’d prove to Betsy that all of her assumptions about musicians in general and me in particular needed to be rewritten. We didn’t all fit into the outline she’d given us.
I’m going to change your mind, Betsy Vargas. Just see if I don’t.
11
Betsy
Istared down at my bed, clothes in neat piles across the striped bedspread, an outfit for each day of the week. Hopefully someone in Asher’s band had thought about the need for a laundromat every once in a while, because I didn’t own enough clothes to last the whole tour without doing laundry. Hotels usually had facilities, but Asher had informed me that he’d rented a bus for both transportation and lodging purposes.
For the band’s own safety, no one had better snore. After hours of being kept awake by obnoxious breathing noises, I wouldn’t put it past myself to consider a pillow a weapon. Just a little suffocation until rendered unconscious. That wouldn’t be going too far, would it?
A light tapping sounded on my door.
“Come in.”
Bella paused at the threshold, Charlotte on her hip. My niece had her fist in her mouth, baby drool hanging in long strands off her lips, her tiny fingers wet and shiny. Bella came in and sat on the edge of the mattress, transferring Charlotte to her lap. Charlotte lunged for the buffalo plaid flannel folded on top of the closest stack. Bella caught her but not before the infant fisted the flannel and brought a sleeve to her mouth.
Essence of baby. The perfect man repellant. Maybe I should’ve gotten Charlotte to gum all of my shirts for extra protection. I trusted myself, but…
Yeah, it was thatbutthat I was worried about. I’d told Asher what I thought of musicians. He hadn’t protested. Hadn’t gotten defensive or tried to argue with my assessment. But he also hadn’t backed away. If anything, he seemed to have stepped up. To the line or the gauntlet or whatever it was he thought I’d thrown down.
I wasn’t scared.
Cautious wasn’t scared. It was being smart.
“Are you excited?” Bella asked.
I gave her my patentedgirl, pleaselook.
She laughed as I’d intended.
