Missing Dixie(77)
I blink back the hot tears threatening to burn tracks of hatred for both Katrina Garrison and Carl Andrews down my face. I swallow the sob trying to escape, the audible proof of the pain I feel for Gavin and Liam—sympathy I know neither of them wants or needs.
“Dixie and I,” he says, jolting me to life with the sound of my name as he angles himself in my direction briefly, “we’ve gotten to known Liam. We’ve spent time with him, shown him that time with us—whether at home or on the road—will be a time of safety, of security, and of being provided for by adults he can trust. This is rare for a child in his situation and though we aren’t married and we are musicians who don’t have the most conventional lifestyle, I can say without reservation or hesitation that Liam needs a less restrictive environment than most children his age. A classroom with rules he cannot possibly keep in mind at all times will be a nightmare for him just as it was for me. Trying to fit in and compete with children who’ve had advantages he couldn’t even possibly comprehend is both unfair and unrealistic. Due to the success of our careers, we’re able to provide him an individualized education where he can set his own pace with tutors who are knowledgeable about his situation and temperament. We were also able to find a therapist who specializes in working with children like Liam.”
Gavin casts a long look over his shoulder at me and I grin big because I am so damn proud of him right now. My broody silent boy stood up and became a man today for the sake of a child we both love and cherish. No matter the outcome or the judge’s decision, I know we will always be a part of Liam’s life and that having Gavin as a role model was part of a grander plan designed by a much higher power than us.
“Is that all, Mr. Garrison?”
At first Gav looks like he’s going to wrap it up, but then he shakes his head.
“No, sir. I just want to add that when I was a kid, I thought everything was my fault. I placed the blame for my mother’s behavior squarely on my own small shoulders. Meeting Liam has helped me to realize that no child is to blame or should be punished for their parents’ mistakes. I don’t regret the pain that I suffered growing up or carry it with me any longer because I understand that there was a purpose for it. Without experiencing it for myself, I never could’ve related to Liam and reached him the way that I have been able to. I consider that a gift—his friendship and his trust. I know he won’t give it to many. I hope that you will look long and hard at this case, at us as individuals, Liam, Dixie, and myself, and you will see what I see. A family. One designed to be together. One that loves and supports each other. I hope that you will choose us as Liam’s permanent guardians, and not because we make the most money, but because we love and care for him and understand him in a way other guardians would likely be unable to do.”
The judge nods and Gavin takes one more deep breath. “That’s all, Your Honor. Thank you for your time.”
When he returns to his seat he reaches for my hand and I feel his trembling as much as mine.
“I love you,” I whisper. “And love you.”
“Ditto, Bluebird,” he whispers back. His eyes meet mine and I read the promise in them.
It’s going to be okay.
Gavin says we can use the broken pieces of the past to build a brighter future . . . but I’m not sure this is true anymore.
Either we lose Liam or lose the band, and I know from experience that I need them both.
Can we have both? I don’t know.
All I know is that I don’t want my dreams to cost me my heart.
For the first time in my life, I know I finally have the strength to hold on tight either way.
34 | Gavin
Two years later
I CAN’T HELP but laugh as Dixie tries to juggle the four Grammys we won tonight. A song we wrote about Liam during our yearlong struggle to formally adopt him launched our career into the stratosphere and we still haven’t come down—though we all know we will one day. For now, we keep each other grounded.
Photographers are everywhere as we leave the awards ceremony. It’s a constant barrage of flashbulbs, almost like being in a club with strobe lights. Dallas has his hands full with Robyn and Denver, I’m carrying Liam, and my poor Bluebird is stuck with the relatively small but still heavy and somewhat cumbersome trophies.
“Congratulations on the twins, Dallas!” a reporter calls out. “When’s the due date?”
“June,” Robyn answers, glaring at Dixie, who grins maniacally in response.
“What about you two?” the same reporter calls out toward me and Dixie. “Any bundles of joy coming your way anytime soon?”
Dixie looks momentarily caught off guard so I answer.
“We have our hands full as it is right now,” I tell the female reporter standing up front. Nodding to Liam, who has his face buried in my shoulder, I add, “We’re focusing on our family and our music.”
She takes this direct answer as motivation to push on and shoves her mic toward me. “The history with the band, how it all began, how you two ended up together and with an adopted son, it’s all such a mystery to your fans. Do you ever think you’ll do an exposé on your backstory? For CMT or someone else, for instance?”
I glance over at Robyn, who does our PR and marketing and typically fields these types of questions. She’s busy consoling an exhausted Denver so I take a deep breath and face the reporter myself. Our backstory is messy and full of criminal records, complicated courtroom dramas, and disastrous tours in which things happened that I have vowed never to discuss. I’ve taken several oaths to keep specific incidents quiet—particularly those involving one band member peeing her pants and it wasn’t either a child or a pregnant Robyn touring with us at the time. Dixie would kill me dead if those details ever surfaced.