More Than Anything (17 page)

“I have one label on the East Coast nosing around. But they aren’t talking my kind of numbers. More of a small outfit. Worse comes to worst, of course I’ll take what they’re offering, but I’m hoping the show goes well and I can get a major label like you and Derek did.”

“I’ve been learning a lot from Sebastian. Even a big deal doesn’t guarantee squat.”

“My lord, of course not. But at least you get a ticket into the race. Right now I’m all hat, no cattle, as the Texans say.”

“That’ll change.”

“I’m not so sure it will, but honestly, I’m fine with that. If I spend the rest of my career on Broadway, there are worse ways to go out.”

“You do love show tunes.”

He gets a mischievous look on his face and begins singing the first lines from his favorite Liza-with-a-Z song. “Welllll…allllllll…youuuuuuuu…”

We both burst into a fit of giggles, and I struggle for breath. He gets serious and leans forward. “Sweetie, let’s go back to you and Derek. If you really want him, you absolutely have to fly back and see him. This six-week BS isn’t going to work. Trust me on that.”

“I can see if there are a couple of days where I can take a break, I suppose.”

“What are you going to do differently if you can get away, though? I mean, seriously. So far you’ve been pretty terrible at dragging him into the bedroom.”

“It didn’t help that there were no bedrooms, much less a bed, until the last week we were together.”

He waves his hand. “Details.”

“What would you do?”

“Are you kidding? I’d leave the door open while I’m taking a shower, and ask him to help soap me up – because I’m really dirty.”

I blush. “That could work.”

“You bet it would. Look, all I’m saying is that if you have a couple of nights, put them to good use. And use protection. We don’t know where he’s been.”

“Derek’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh. Tell Miss Thang that.”

“He didn’t do anything.”

“Everyone’s got a story.”

I sigh. “Yes, O wise one.” My yawn comes out of nowhere, and Jeremy smiles.

“Pearls before swine, I see.” He pats my leg and stands. “Remember. ‘I’m dirty. Dirty and bad.’ Let nature take it from there.”

We go to our rooms to get ready for bed. As I’m brushing my teeth, I can’t get the image of Derek in the shower out of my mind, only this time I’m nearby, naked, telling him how bad I’ve been.

Tonight, at least, my dreams are sweet.

“Really?” Derek sounds excited by my news. It’s been another frustrating week, but I finally caught a break.

“Yup. I’ll come out on Friday and fly back late Sunday. I already booked the ticket.”

“What about your tracks?”

“I told Sebastian I’ll need a break. He wasn’t happy, but he’s got plenty to do. It’s really coming together.”

“Can you bring me some rough mixes?”

“Of course. But I was thinking of something better.” The shower scene pops into my head, and I reluctantly force it away.

“Like what?”

“I’ll give you an in-person performance.”

“I’d really love that.” His voice sounds tight. “I miss you a lot, Sage. I’ve been thinking about you, about…us.”

“Me too,” I say in a quiet voice.

“What are we going to do? How will this ever work?”

“We’ll do whatever it takes, Derek. Isn’t that what we always do?”

“I know. It just…it seems hopeless.”

“Only if you give up hope. We’ll find a way.”

“But after we finish recording, then we’ll each have to tour…”

“It won’t be easy, but nothing has been so far. I’m not scared if you aren’t,” I say.

Lie.

I’m not scared, I’m terrified. He’s obviously been thinking too much – or maybe I haven’t been. He’s right about the touring. Terry’s already started working with a booking agent, and they’re lining up the first leg – and once we’re mixing the songs, she’s got a short list of musicians to audition for my road band.

Like it or not, this is a machine, and I’m now along for the ride.

What would be awesome is if we could tour together – but there’s actually no reason I can think of we couldn’t, so I’ll mention it to Terry. Maybe at least some cities. Even if I only got to see Derek here and there, it would be more than I have now. I’ve finally made peace with my inner conflicts – I want him more than anything, and I’m not going to let anything stand between us.

“I’m glad to hear that, Sage. We’ll figure it out.”

“Count on it, Derek.”

We say goodnight, and I hang up. Jeremy’s back in New York, in rehearsals. My basic tracks are almost done, and then we’ll start on lead vocals. After a week of that, I’ll legitimately be ready for a rest. No point in wearing out my voice, even if the chances are slim – one thing you learn from singing for your supper eight hours a day is endurance. Sebastian thinks I should be able to nail the vocals in two to three weeks, tops, and then a week of backgrounds, and we move to the mix. It’s going by in a blur, to the point where I lose track of what we’ve recorded and haven’t, but Sebastian is like some sorcerer and has it all figured out.

Thank God I landed him, I think for the thousandth time.

I’m so happy that in less than a week I’ll be seeing Derek again I can hardly sleep, and I stay up way too late watching mindless shows on
E!
The next day I look worked, and Sebastian seems to notice, even though he doesn’t say anything.

We’ve had dinner a couple more times, but it’s started feeling uncomfortable for me. Jeremy’s right. He does have more than a professional interest in me, which he’s hinted at, although not in a way that would interfere with our working relationship. Still, I know he wants something more than to hear me sing if he has the chance, and the last time he offered to take me out for a bite, I begged off.

One thing Derek nailed was that when emotions come into play, things can get weird, and I can’t afford for anything to go wrong with Sebastian at this point. He’s really cool and definitely hot, but I’m not in the market. I don’t want it to get any heavier. So I’ve been a little standoffish, and he seems to have gotten the message – for now.

The week drags by, although I’m enjoying my vocal tracks now that I’ve gotten the hang of the isolation booth. Sebastian has hundreds of tricks for coaxing the best possible performance out of me, and I’m absorbing them like a sponge. One unexpected side effect of recording is I feel like I’m becoming a better singer in the process, which can only help me in the long term.

The morning of the big day finally arrives. I’m stuffing clothes into my backpack, which I still haven’t replaced, my pulse thrumming in my ears as I hurry so I won’t be late. My phone rings out in the dining room, and I curse as I race out to snag it.

My heart sinks when I see the number.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hello, sweetheart. How’ve you been?”

“It’s been crazy busy. In fact, now isn’t a good time.”

“Sorry to bug you, then. I got a call a few minutes ago. It’s your mom.”

“What about her?”

“She’s been admitted to the hospital again. I don’t need to tell you why. And this time it doesn’t look like she’s going to make it.”

I slump onto the sofa and stare out through the sliding glass doors at the tiny balcony. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was. It’s bad.”

“What…God, Dad. This couldn’t happen at a worse time.”

“I’m sorry. But, Sage, she’s your mother.”

I choke back the lump in my throat, a combination of sorrow and anger. He didn’t seem all that concerned about her, or me, when he disappeared, leaving us to fend for ourselves. And now he wants me to drop everything and sacrifice because she put herself in the hospital again? No. I’m not going to do it. I take a deep breath and try to sound calm. “I’m flying to New York tonight.”

His voice gets soft. “I’d reschedule, Sage. She isn’t expected to make it to tomorrow.”

I can hear my teeth gritting. This can’t be happening. “When are you driving up?”

“As soon as you get here.”

Damn. Damn, damn, damn. God hates me. I wonder what I could have done to offend him so much. I’m only seventeen. It’s not like I’ve got a history of war crimes or dog torture or anything.

“I’ll call the airline and see what I can do.”

“That’s the right call, honey.”

I close my eyes and wipe a tear away. “I know. I’ll call you back.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Sebastian is understanding, although even his most patient tone has a trace of annoyance in it. I understand where he’s coming from. He’s only got a certain amount of time slotted to finish the record, and he just lost his star performer for one more day. I promise him I’ll make it up, but my promise sounds hollow even to my ear.

The trip to the airport is the most depressing in my life. I call Derek on the way, and he can’t believe it.

“It’s like we’re cursed.”

“I know,” I say.

“Any details on your mom?”

“No, just that she’s dying. If she’s hemorrhaging and they can’t get it to stop, it’s probably just a matter of hours.”

“That’s horrible. I’m so sorry, Sage. Let me know if I can do anything.”

“I don’t suppose you can fly to San Francisco?” I say and feel like crap the moment the words tumble out of my mouth. I bail out on him, and now I want him to drop everything so I can still see him.

“You know I would, but I can’t. I’ve got vocals scheduled for the next two days. There’s nothing else they can do.”

“I understand. That was totally selfish of me. I know you’re swamped.”

“Hey, you have a great excuse.”

“There’s never an excuse, Derek.”

When we disconnect I feel a piece of me die. Just like that, all my dreams of spending an idyllic weekend with Derek are shattered, and I’m returning to Clear Lake – a place I despise. It’s not fair.

My inside voice, sensing weakness, goes in for the kill.
No, Sage, nothing is. Get over yourself. Your mother’s dying. This isn’t all about you.

At least it’s reliable. But I can talk back to it.
She’s dying because she’s systematically killed herself, against the counsel of everyone around her. She’s chosen death over life.

I absently wonder whether everyone volleys back and forth with themselves like this, or if maybe I’m pulling a Joan of Arc, and the next thing I’ll be doing is standing on a street corner quoting scripture. After all, crazy seems to run in the family.

The flight is mercifully smooth, and I keep my eyes closed the entire way, Melody’s Raiders hat on and pulled down low, shades insulating me from the outside world.

My dad meets me at the airport. He’s got another rental, an even worse POS than the last time, and it’s a long and glum trip north. He asks about the recording, and I tell him what I can, but it’s quickly obvious that I might as well be speaking Mandarin – I’ve already assimilated so much technical jargon from being around Sebastian all the time that it’s hard for me to describe things in laymen’s terms.

“So it’s going well, then?” he asks after I finish.

“Yes, Dad. Really well. How about the carpentry thing?”

“Still got all my fingers. That’s a plus in this business.”

“You’re doing something right.”

“That’s how I view it.”

Nothing’s changed at the hospital since a few weeks earlier. Same bored nurse, same attitude, but a different room.

My mom looks terrible. She’s so pale her skin’s translucent, the veins like purple spider webs in her arms. An ominously colored IV bag of blood is flowing into her line, and she’s unconscious.

I take the seat next to her bed and hold her hand, cold as ice and frail as spun sugar, as my father goes to talk to someone who can give him more information.

“Why did you do this? Why, Mom? Was it worth it?” My voice is hoarse, and tears are welling in my eyes. I’m so mad I could spit – at least that’s what I tell myself. But the truth is more complex. I’m angry, but I’m also torn up inside with guilt and sadness and self-pity, because as hard as I’m trying to understand, I can’t. Why did she choose to kill herself as surely as putting a gun to her head? What was so frigging unbearable in this life that she had to rush to get out of it?

How could she do this to me?

There it is. Even as she lies dying, I can’t view it outside of its relevance to me. Am I really that selfish? What kind of human being am I that I can sit at my mom’s deathbed and be thinking about her actions only as they relate to me?

My dad returns, and I snap out of my pity party. I know as surely as I know the words to “Me & Bobby McGee” that I’ll have many nights to beat myself bloody over this. No point in rushing things.

“It’s as bad as we thought. She’s not responding. All they can do is what they’re doing, but the doctor isn’t holding out much hope.”

I look at the shell of a human lying on the bed and try to remember her as she was when I was a child, before the sallow skin and perpetual frown of the hungover drunk became her death mask. I try as hard as I can, but I can’t do it. That woman died long before this one arrived for her last stay in the hospital.