Family Interrupted (21 page)

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COLLEEN

I held the last note of my second number almost to infinity, and when I finally took a breath and smiled, the awesome silence in the Roadhouse Café turned into raise-the-roof applause. And a standing ovation. What a rush! Nothing could compare to the high of performing one of my own songs for a crowd who got it. Nothing was better than this, not Ian, not even the baby, although she was a close second.

The shout-outs were sending goosebumps up my arms. I smiled and waved. I could have sung for an hour, but I turned the mic over to the next person on the program. On Saturday, the open mic was by invitation only, and I couldn’t hog it up, no matter how much I wanted to. I’d missed performing after Tina was born; I missed it as deeply as I’d miss the sun if night took over the world. Writing songs and singing them was what I was meant to do.

“This one’s on the house, little lady. ”Behind the bar, Ted Willis slid a longneck at me. “You’re singing better than ever. Maybe the baby’s a good influence, or maybe it’s the baby’s daddy.” The old-timer waggled his bristly eyebrows, and I chuckled, even though his words shot a familiar pang of guilt through me.

Ian was the best. A great guy. Loving. Sweet. And he’d offered me a home when I’d needed it. I owed him.
But...
Such a big word for three little letters.
But.
It had the power to make my tongue freeze, and what I couldn’t say in real life, I guess I put into my songs.

I chose to linger at the bar, nursing my beer, postponing Ian, postponing Tina and the small apartment where the shiniest piece of furniture was the crib. My dreams far outreached the pokey East Texas town I’d come from. They outreached the helpless baby who needed me every minute of the day and night, and certainly outreached the day-in, day-out routine of the refinery where I had to return, if I could stand it.

I wanted a whole bushel more than I had now. The Grand Old Opry.
American Idol
. I knew I had the talent and drive. I was as good as Kellie Pickler. Even better. And now Pickler had released albums and earned a whole lot of money. Best of all, the young country star didn’t have to depend on daddies or boyfriends or anyone but herself to make it in this world. That’s just what I wanted too. Was that so awful? Too bad Ian wasn’t a musician. Then both of us could just take a bus to Tennessee.

“Hey, Colleen,” called Ted. “Here’s someone who wants to meet you.”

I woke from my thoughts and saw a man slip up next to me but not too close. He handed me a card: Roger Smiley, Talent Scout. From a music producer based in Nashville.

“I liked what I heard, Ms. Murphy,” he said. “You’ve got promise in those pipes. And Ted, here, says you often sing your own stuff, and they’re as good as the one you sang tonight.”

Taken by surprise, I could only nod my head and whisper, “Yes. Yes. I write a lot of songs and sing them here. To try them out. And if you don’t believe me, I’ve got notebooks to prove it.” He smiled like he thought I was a dumb country bunny. And I had to admit I sounded like one.

“I believe you, Ms. Murphy. Ever make a demo?”

I shook my head. “Never had the funds, but I always had it in my mind to do it.”

“Well, it’s probably cheaper to do it in the heart of country music. In fact, my company will back a demo if I recommend it.”

He looked at me straight on, like he wanted this dumb bunny to understand. “I don’t often make those recommendations,” he said, “but there are exceptions. You’d be one of them. So, when and if you get to Nashville, look me up. Or if you cut a demo here, send it to me first. You’ve got something going on.” He slipped his card into my hand. “Remember, me first.”

“Oh, I will, Mr. Smiley. I surely will. And I’ll get there. You’ll see.”

The man stayed with me until the next singer finished then met my eye and gently shook his head. “That one misses long and wide.”

I agreed with him. I really tried to be as objective as I could when listening to other singers, but in this case, I had to say he was right. “I’ll keep your card safe, Mr. Smiley. Count on it.”

“That’s just what I wanted to hear.” He got up, lifted his broad-brimmed felt hat, and said, “Till the next time.”

I watched him walk away and felt Ted staring at me. The bartender kept up with everything going on.

“What ya make of him, Colleen?”

“You tell first.”

“I’m thinking he’s got a bit of snake oil on him to ease the way, but he’s serious about discovering a diamond in the rough. He’s a legit scout in the business. I looked him up on the computer while he was talkin’ to you. Him and his company.”

“Why, Ted Willis. You’re watching out for me.” I felt good about that. He acted like a real dad would.

“You bet I am. I discovered you first!”

Floating high on praise and promise, I got into my old car, while reality started sinking in. Once again, I wondered how I wound up doing everything backwards.

CLAIRE

Same night

At Casa Olé

I knew it was a great party when I started to relax. The noise level, laughter, dancing, as well as the eating and drinking, were echoes from a former life. It had been a long time between parties. A long time since our friends gathered with us in celebration of anything. Only Ian’s absence dampened the mood for me.

Of all our guests that evening, however, Anne Conroy’s smile was the widest. Simply put, she not only looked amazing but pulled her hubby onto the dance floor time and again.

“Credit to my chicken soup?” I joked as they stopped to chat on the way back to their table.

“Absolutely.” Anne beamed at me then squeezed my arm. “I’m a survivor!” she said. “I went through hell and came out the other side. So far, I’ve made it.” Now she hugged me with a strength that impressed. “And so will you,” she continued. “Just look at yourself tonight. Gorgeous in that beautiful silk dress. Those shades of green are perfect—totally you. You and Jack...I think the two of you are more than surviving. You’re coming back; the real Barneses are coming back to us.”

Were we? I would have liked to agree, but I knew some of my excitement came from the surprise I had waiting: Kayla’s portrait. I’d wrapped it in a king-size sheet then in a large woven blanket and brought it over in Jack’s truck early in the day. It now leaned against the restaurant manager’s office wall. But it could wait awhile. Jack looked ready to dance.

“You remind me of someone,” he murmured, taking me in his arms.

“I do?”

“Yes—the girl I married twenty-five years ago. And not looking a day older.”

“Nice hogwash.”

“You’re more beautiful than ever and still fit right here.” He pulled me closer, and I knew he was right. My head fit perfectly against his shoulder. We moved to the music in step with one another, as though dancing was part of our daily routine.

“Fred and Ginger?”

“Better,” he said with a grin. “Jack and Claire.”

“I guess we’re muddling through okay.”

“Tonight is better than a muddle. If all you needed was a big party, I would have thrown you one months ago. Any excuse would have been fine with me.”

As if to prove it, he whirled me faster as the lyrics urged us to “Celebrate good times, come on.”

“Are the good times coming back, Claire-de-Lune?”

“I-I hope so.” I pressed his shoulder and slowed our steps. “I’ve got a surprise for you tonight. For everyone. Later on.”

I waited for the perfect moment, the pause between dinner and dessert, before the anniversary cake would be cut and served. I waved to the DJ, and he allowed the music to fade out.

“What are you up to?” asked Jack.

Instead of answering him, I made my way to the manager’s office, and as previously arranged, he helped me carry
Girl Exalted
to the front of the room and onto a chair. I stood tall, hands raised, and slowly the noise level diminished as our friends and relatives became aware of me waiting and perhaps noticed the large package still under wraps.

Jack stared from me to the covered picture, his brow creasing as his eyes focused from one to the other and back again. I caught the exact moment when he became uneasy, the moment he turned to me in silent question. I smiled, urged him to join me, but with a deliberate pivot, he mingled among the guests before alighting at our parents’ table. He was normally one who embraced and conquered the unexpected. Tonight, however, I wondered if he might need support himself or might need to provide it. His distrust after our lovely time together disappointed me.

“Thank you for sharing the evening with us,” I began, “and stick around. There’s more to come with dessert and coffee and another set of music—if your feet can handle it.”

I paused for their reaction—laughter and groans. After watching Jack give dozens of talks over the years, always inserting humor and measuring his delivery, I’d learned a little something about timing. But now, my heart raced. My palms felt damp. To speak out loud of the children...of Kayla...made my throat close. And what if my work disappointed? What if no one else saw her as I did? The room seemed eerily quiet.

“We would have wanted our kids to be here too, of course, for this special celebration. But Ian is out doubling his money tonight with OT and asked me to say hello to y’all for him. So, I guess he’s here in spirit.”

I’d actually hoped Ian would show, and I hadn’t prepared this speech. But somehow, the words formed and flowed.

“And as for Kayla, she’ll always be with us in spirit, in love and memory, and as real as I could make her.”

With a quick movement, I let the covering drop to the floor. And there stood my daughter in her full glory of victory. In her full glory of life.

Seconds passed. A silent freeze-frame. The kind of awed silence that follows a show-stopping moment. From a distance, I heard the gasps. The murmurs. The “Oh, my God’s.” “Look at her.” “It’s Kayla!” “Amazing.” “Claire’s work?”

Someone called my name. Someone else joined in. Claire! Claire! Claire! Soon a chorus of “Claire” filled the room.

Relief turned my legs to Jell-O. My arms quivered, eyes watered. The spontaneous remarks rang true, and the shout-outs...? The room swam, everyone a blur. I guess I’d done it. I had done Kayla justice.
There’s my daughter
, I thought,
“…looking as if she were alive….”
The line from Browning’s poem sprang suddenly to mind. And it was true. Kayla sparkled with life, and I was so grateful. Grateful and happy.

Happy? Me? Were the trembling corners of my mouth arcing upward?

People came forward, surrounded me. Surrounded the portrait. But I wanted Jack. I wanted us together, finally sharing a deeply joyful moment. After all, it was our anniversary. And our daughter was here...at least in spirit.

#

But Jack wasn’t in the restaurant, and when I finally stepped outside, a quick glance told me the car was gone. Once again, I was lost in silence. Jack gone? Without a word? He must have hated the portrait. Or the surprise of it. Or...or what? Maybe he hated me. I leaned against the wall of the restaurant, my energy flagging along with my hopes.

“Claire?”

Mom’s voice.

“Right here.”

“People are looking for you. The party’s breaking up, and they want to say goodnight. Your phone rang, and I brought it.”

I glanced at the missed call. And there he was. I connected.

“Where are you, Jack? Folks are leaving.”

“I’m getting the truck. Tell everyone to go home. I’ll speak to them soon.” He hung up.

Getting the truck? A dozen pickups waited for their owners in the parking lot. I could have gotten a ride with the Conroys, for goodness’ sake, right in our own neighborhood.

When Jack finally reappeared, I was wiped out from maintaining my smile and making excuses for his absence. The few remaining guests surrounded him now, eager with a new round of congratulations. He laughed but, with a short gesture, cut them off.

“Need to take care of a certain bill inside,” he said, “or we all stay and wash dishes.”

It was a poor joke from a guy almost good enough for an improv gig. No doubt, he just wanted to get away from everyone, including me.

Five minutes later, Kayla’s portrait was wrapped and ready to go, but I needed help getting it to the truck. Just as I approached the manager’s office, Luis appeared and walked toward me.

“Your husband had some gifts to carry. It is my pleasure to help you once more.”

“Thanks, Luis.
Muchas gracias
. I told everyone not to bring presents. Even had it on the invitations.”

The man chuckled, and together we carefully hoisted the canvas into the truck bed while Jack sat behind the wheel, the engine idling. After thanking Luis again, I climbed into the front seat. Jack pulled out of the lot without a word and kept his silence for a long minute or two. An awkward silence and I wasn’t having it.

“What’s wrong—”

“Congratulations, Claire—”

I settled back into my seat.

“It’s your best work ever. I could have—” He cleared his throat. “—reached out and hugged her.”

He seemed to be sincere, but his voice was flat, as though he resented paying the compliment.

“Well, thank you. I think.” Peering up at him, I added, “You don’t sound very...let’s say, enthusiastic. I’m sorry if I shocked you.”

He shrugged. “I guess I’m not that teacher you were always yapping about from the college. The one who thought you could do no wrong. Maybe you should go back to school.”

Jack was changing subjects as quickly as my sister changed clothes in a dressing room.

“Why are you talking about Colombo? I’ve barely thought about him or my classes since I left. Especially not since he sold my painting without telling me.”

“Well, you should think about them now. They’ll keep you busy.”

My nerve endings jingled as the conversation became too bizarre for my liking. “I’ve got enough to do, Jack. Now what’s really on your mind? A-and maybe you should pull over...?”

He continued driving too fast, heading toward home. “I’m talking about us. You and I. It’s not working out for me. Not anymore.”