You'd Be Mine(65)

I swallow against the lump in my throat and clear it loudly. I look down at Layla. “Well, what a coincidence. You’re the closest thing I have to my brother, Little Layla. Think we should stick together?”

We eat a lunch of PB and J with apple slices, and talk—while stilted at times—is more than it’s ever been. I can see why my brother was attracted to this woman. She’s strong-willed and pretty and protective as all get-out. They must have been great together. I wish I’d paid more attention, but I’d assumed I had all the time in the world.

“I was sort of hoping you’d bring that Annie Mathers back around with you. She’s a delight,” Lindy teases.

The image of sitting around this dilapidated patio with Annie by my side, visiting, is so appealing, my chest constricts.

“I don’t think Annie will be coming back anytime soon,” I say.

Lindy’s expression is far too understanding, and I squirm.

“I know you and I aren’t close, Clay, but I do know what it’s like to love a Coolidge man, so I hope you’ll hear me out.”

Fitz settles back in his chair comfortably, crossing his boots. I clamp down on any words of argument, feeling my jaw clench. I don’t want to hear the words Annie and love in the same sentence. I owe Lindy her say, though.

“You don’t make it easy. You’ve been left a lot in your lives and prefer to do the leaving. Look at Danny.” She waves a hand, taking a sip of her tea and swallowing before continuing. “Oh, I know he was military, so of course he had a noble reason to leave, and I don’t mean to belittle his sacrifice. I’m proud as hell of him and will love him for it until the day I die. But he left. Always. If he’d lived, he’d still be leaving. I don’t know the particulars of this visit, but I’ll bet the roof over my head, you’re leaving.”

I don’t disagree, and she continues.

“At some point, Clay, you’re gonna have to be the one who stays put.”

“My life’s on the road,” I say. I don’t bother to tell her I’m thinking of quitting.

“You know that’s not what I mean. Annie’s been left behind, too. When you guys came to Taps, she defended you up and down. Convinced me maybe you weren’t as selfish as you seemed. Said people grieve in different ways and you were grieving in yours. That girl spoke from the heart because she’s been there.”

“I’m not good enough for her,” I say.

Lindy’s lips spread into a blinding smile, and she taps the table with two fingers. “That’s the best thing you could’ve said. Never forget it. If she chooses to love you anyway, don’t you dare let her go.”





26



Annie


sunday, august 18

chicago, illinois

wrigley field

A few weeks later, it’s the last night of our summer tour, and I’m equal parts sad and relieved. I love to perform more than anything. I was meant for this. This summer has proved it to me. I love touring with Clay Coolidge. Jefferson and Fitz have become our family. Dysfunctional as we may well be.

More than that, even, I love to sing with Jefferson. Things are strained. His whatever-it-was with the pills scared the hell out of me. His visit at my grandparents intrigued me. His jump into the pond moved me.

But it’s the end. Already the label is planning into the holidays, months in the distance. They are releasing our album in weeks. They’ve scheduled appearances on several late-night television shows and Saturday Night Live as the musical guest. I’ve even heard whispers about the Grand Ole Opry.

In all of this, I haven’t heard a peep about Clay Coolidge. The morning we arrived in Minneapolis, Trina intercepted Fitz at the door of our hotel. We left them in a hushed argument, but not before I heard her hiss something about Clay being MIA. Regardless, he showed up on time for sound check and looked bright and ready as ever. If anything, he seemed relaxed.

Which is good. Perfect, even. That’s what the weeklong break was about.

Jason, Kacey, and I are slurping Thai noodles while sitting on tall black cases of stage equipment, watching Jefferson warm up. Fitz finally saunters over, and Kacey passes him her container.

He takes several distracted bites, watching his bandmate with an appraising eye.

“I think he’s done,” he says finally.

“Trina can’t fire him,” I say soothingly.

Fitz shakes his head. “No, she would never drop her cash cow. I mean, I think he is done.”

“But he looks fine,” says Kacey.

“He does. Better, actually, than I’ve seen him in a few years. Something’s changed, though.”

“Has he said anything to you about it?” I ask once I’ve found my voice. I can’t say I’m surprised by this news, but it still pains me.

Fitz turns his penetrating gaze on me. “Music is in Clay’s blood. Always has been, since he was a boy in his granddad’s shop. He sent an email to all of us putting a stay on his contract negotiations. He was only given a one-album contract at signing, but we all thought they’d extend it in a heartbeat. He’s supposed to meet with the label after Chicago, but he canceled the meeting. Said it was until further notice.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kacey asks Fitz, rubbing his arm.